Exacting Clemency
by Olexia Engel
Summary: A mission goes terribly wrong and Duo is to blame. His comrades are furious and never want to see him again. But, they are forced to live together in a remote safehouse for a full seven days. Violence and antagonism ensue.
1. Frayed Tempers

**EXACTING CLEMENCY, by Olexia Engel**

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**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I do not own Gundam Wing or the marvellous pilots thereof.

**Characters:** 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5

**Notes: **A friendship fic based on the five Gundam pilots. Duo-centric.

**Warnings:** Bad language

**Summary: **Hues of tension that converge into a blazing row. Will clemency ever be exacted?

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**Clemency: -**

**- A disposition to show mercy, especially toward an offender or enemy.**

**- A merciful, kind, or lenient act. **

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**CHAPTER ONE: FRAYED TEMPERS**

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"Move, baka," Heero barked, shoving his way brusquely past the braided pilot and entering the safehouse. Duo followed, hot on his tail, in pursuit of a vicious comeback to counteract his hurtful remark. His arm was grabbed, however, by one of the pilots behind him, stopping him in his tracks. Frustrated, Duo spun around and locked eyes with piercing green.

"Don't, Duo," Trowa hissed, a note of warning present in his low baritone voice. Duo let out a derisive snort and began to wrench his arm free from the iron grip. As the hold tightened in silent threat, however, Duo was forced to cease his struggles and become still. A moment passed in tense silence, with the three pilots watching Duo as he stared defiantly at the floor. Eventually, Duo lifted his head slowly and regarded them through his chestnut bangs. Each boy looked as enraged as the next, what with Wufei's lips pursed in one thin line and his charcoal eyes flashing dangerously. Quatre's usually happy and angelic face was wrought in a mixture of hurt and rage, and Trowa held an impressive rendition of Heero's chilling 'Omae o korosu' glare. Heaving a sigh of annoyance, Duo nodded his head in silent defeat.

Satisfied, Trowa released his hold and motioned for the others to follow him into the safehouse. All three boys entered swiftly, leaving Duo alone in the doorway. Cursing under his breath, Duo slammed the door shut and made his way down the hall, stopping short a few paces from the kitchen door, which had been intentionally closed for his exclusion. Inside he could hear the low whistling of a kettle being boiled alongside the rumble of a hushed conversation.

"What Duo did is completely inconceivable. How could he have been so _stupid_?"

"Hn, baka."

"That damn idiot has it coming, I swear! If he as so much as looks at me I'll send him to the fires of hell! _Shinigami my ass_…"

"Wufei, _please_… I think we've encountered enough disaster for one day, yes?"

"Quatre's right. Let's all settle down a bit and think things through. There's no use in killing him ov–"

"_Well he sure isn't getting away with it!_ Justice and revenge must be served in order to restore…"

At that, the kitchen door opened fully, Duo standing on its threshold with a look of pure anger and malice. He stared directly at Wufei, who had turned around in his seat, before saying in an air of feigned nonchalance, "Come now, Wuffers, no need to bore the guys to death with another one of your justice rants."

"Well, I assure you it will be far more pleasant than what I've got planned for you!" Wufei snarled, leaping from his chair and advancing towards the American.

Just as he was about to strike, Wufei felt a gentle hand come to rest on his shoulder, coaxing him to calm down. Glancing behind, he met the worried face of Quatre, the small Arabian silently pleading with his huge aquamarine eyes. With a sigh, Wufei lowered his fist and sullenly made his way back to his seat. The other three watched the exchange with something akin to respect and admiration for the blond; he had an uncanny knack in taking control of a situation, hence the reason for him being the appointed strategist of the group. Their attention then shifted back to the situation at hand, Duo once again feeling the intense glares from each of his co-pilots.

"What do you want, Maxwell?" came Heero's terse remark, his customary monotone breaking the uneasy silence.

"Geez, Yuy… can't a guy walk into a kitchen without getting harassed by his fellow team-mates?" Duo laughed feebly, flinging his braid across his shoulder in a nervous gesture.

"Not when he's unwelcome," came Trowa's blunt reply, the tall Latino sitting at the end of the table with his visible eye glinting menacingly. Quatre moved to resume his seat beside Trowa, turning his face away from Duo.

"I think it's best, Duo, if you went to bed now. Let the whole thing blow over, okay? We'll talk this through tomorrow after we've all had some rest," Quatre murmured softly, still refusing to look at the American.

Duo glowered at the blond with a mixture of hurt and disbelief, before snapping indignantly, "I'm not a damn child, Quatre! I'll go to bed when I'm good and ready."

"No, Maxwell. You'll do as we say if you know what's good for you. Now go," Heero ordered, his voice firm and disturbingly resolute.

Realising that the odds were against him, that being four against one, Duo had no choice but to heed their command. With a final rancorous look at each of them, he turned and bolted out of the kitchen, letting the door slam with a resonating boom after him. Swift stomps soon followed as he ascended the stairs in foul temper, the opening and closing of a bedroom door sounding shortly after. Downstairs, Trowa stood and began pouring boiling water into four mugs, whilst Wufei moved to get milk from the fridge. Quatre sat staring at the wall straight ahead of him, before letting his head fall to rest in his hands.

"I think you'd better spend the night with me, Yuy… Shinigami seems to be on a rampage," Wufei sneered, handing the carton to Trowa.

Heero looked up and regarded the Chinese boy a moment, then said with a curt nod, "Hai, that would be best."


	2. Breakfast Brawl

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**CHAPTER TWO: BREAKFAST BRAWL**

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Duo woke up the next morning slightly bemused over his new surroundings. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, which looked fairly aged and was sprinkled with cracks. He sat up and surveyed the nondescript room; it was obvious that this safehouse was a far cry from the usual Winner mansions that they often resided in, however, it still had a welcoming and characteristic charm to it. He then glanced at the double bed in which he was currently located in and realised that he was dominating it entirely; the patchwork quilt strewn carelessly around him and the set of pillows beside him completely untouched. It was obvious that Heero had spent the night elsewhere, probably shacked up with one of the other pilots; Wufei no doubt. Under normal circumstances, Duo and Heero typically shared a room, as did Trowa and Quatre. Wufei was always the one who slept on his own either in a separate bedroom or camping out on the sofa downstairs, due to an individual penchant to be alone. It would only stand to reason then that the two would bunk together. Duo sighed and collapsed back onto the bed with an attempt to recall the day before and clear his sleep-hazed mind.

Yesterday's mission had turned into an absolute disaster. The objective was to infiltrate the enemy headquarters and retrieve a high-profile disc. The pilots were summoned three days prior to the mission to the Preventers' Headquarters where they were debriefed on what was to be done. They had then been given the days leading up to the assignment to strategize a plan of attack, one that required all five Gundam pilots and needed to be well calculated and thought-out, as the targeted OZ base was heavily guarded. On the day of the mission, each pilot had slipped into their respective roles and set out to execute their assigned task. Everything was running smoothly until about half way through, when Duo unwittingly let his guard slip and, as a result, blew his cover. The others had no choice but to abort the mission immediately, as the risk of being caught was too great. Luckily, each of them escaped the base safe and unscathed, save for the odd bruise or cut. They had then flown directly to the nearest safehouse in the proximity, once having ensured that their departure had not been detected. It was only to be expected that the others would be furious with him; all their hard work and planning had been put to waste and the disc had yet to be retrieved. Obtaining the disc would have been a very valuable acquisition to the Preventers, as it contained numerous Mobile Suit data and plans, and the OZ computer mainframe complete with the full data and specifications on it.

Duo let out the breath he had unknowingly been holding throughout his bitter recollection of the day before. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his bare feet meeting the hard surface of wooden floorboards. He then stood up and made his way to the full-length mirror situated beside the makeshift desk. He gazed at his reflection with slight dismay, noting how tired and drawn he looked, hair dishevelled and violet eyes devoid of their usual customary sparkle. He had slept wearing the clothes from the day before, not bothering to change in his infuriated state. He made his way out of the room and stopped to survey the landing before him. The doors to the remaining two bedrooms were partly open, telling Duo that the others were already awake. It didn't surprise him, in fact he had expected as much; he was always the last to wake up with or without Heero sharing his room. He then crossed the landing in search for the bathroom, finding it located on the far end next to what appeared to be a music room.

Duo re-entered his bedroom to get undressed, having found fresh towels and toiletries in the bathroom. As he stripped down to his boxers, he felt a sudden jolt of pain shoot up his leg. Swerving around, he peered into the mirror, scanning the backs of his legs for injuries. An inch or so above his right knee was a nasty-looking cut, not too deep from what he could tell but caked all the same in a layer of dried blood. Grimacing at his newfound discovery, Duo moved to pick his trousers from the floor, inspecting them for damage. On the back he found a small tear, and, when moved into the sunlight flooding in through the window, a visible bloodstain mingled with the black material. Duo then examined the rest of his body for any more injuries, finding none other than a newly formed bruise on his left shoulder. He must have forgotten to check himself after the mission, too caught up in the argument to have really cared at the time. He hoped that the others were alright; he had presumed they were, but had never actually gotten round to asking them. Taking extra care not to cause himself further harm, Duo lifted his duffel bag onto the bed and retrieved a fresh set of clothing. He also took out a roll of bandages and antiseptic lotion from his personal first aid kit, so he could dress his wound after his shower.

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Some twenty minutes later, Duo made his way downstairs, freshly washed and dressed, his damp hair wrapped into one long, perfect braid. He walked through the hallway, stopping outside the kitchen, the door pointedly closed again like the night before. He could tell that the others were eating their breakfast, judging from the strong and tantalizing smells wafting through from within. Bracing himself for certain argument, Duo opened the door, letting his gaze fall upon the four pilots. Not one of them bothered to look up or even acknowledge his presence, preferring to eat their breakfast in a detached and relative silence. Seeing that he wouldn't be getting a reaction any time soon, Duo looked about the kitchen in search for his own breakfast, suddenly hungry at the sight of their scrambled egg, bacon, sausages, beans, and crumpets.

"Uh… guys? Where's my breakfast? I sure am starving but can't find it anywhere," Duo addressed the group, having found it absent from under the grill, where it was usually kept. He waited patiently for one of them to respond, but when no one did, he prompted, "Guys?" just in case they hadn't heard him the first time.

"Nowhere, _gaki._ Trowa didn't make you any. I'm sure you're no invalid so you're capable of making your own," Heero drawled, wiping his lips on a napkin before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Oh, right… okay," Duo muttered, embarrassed, turning away from the group. It wasn't that he was incapable of making his own; he had just become accustomed to his meals being made for him. Trowa and Quatre were the appointed cooks of the team, as they simply had the best culinary expertise. Heero seldom gave a helping hand when he wasn't busy typing away on his laptop, and Wufei graced them with a traditional Chinese dish now and again. It had been established from early on that Duo was to be kept away from the kitchen, ever since the time he set fire to a safehouse in the midst of his cooking antics. He made up for it in other ways, though, in order to keep things fair, such as helping out with the dishes or setting the table. He therefore found this gesture rather hurtful and unkind, as it completely overrode the principle of the group: working together and helping each other out.

Duo, shaking off his momentary awkwardness, set about making his own breakfast, placing bread into the toaster and cracking eggs onto a frying pan. As he waited, he poured himself some tea from the teapot and added plenty of milk and sugar. Taking a swig, he glanced briefly behind him, noting that the others were near finished. Just as he was buttering his toast, Heero and Trowa stood up and placed their empty plates and cutlery into the sink, before giving the remaining two pilots a brief nod and exiting the kitchen. Wufei did likewise the moment Duo sat down at the table, tapping Quatre lightly on the shoulder on his way out. Quatre then gave Duo a sideways glance, placing his knife and fork upon his plate in a gesture to show that he too had finished. He was about to get up, when he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve.

"Q-man, please. Just hang on a sec. I really need to speak with you," Duo begged, gazing imploringly at the blond Arabian. Quatre, at first startled at the contact, turned to Duo in response, seeing the pleading look on his friend's face.

"Five minutes, Duo," Quatre sighed, "and it had better be good."

"Thanks, Quatre," Duo gushed, unable to stop the happy grin spreading across his face. He then cleared his throat before continuing, "Listen man, I know I screwed up bad on yesterday's mission, real bad. But it was an accident, I swear to God! Will you guys just cut me some slack, already? I'm tired of you ignoring me and treating me like shit. Geez, it's not like it's the worst thing I've done."

Quatre listened to the speech with growing exasperation, in the end burying his head in his hands. "You just don't get it, Duo," he sighed. "It's not just about the mission. It's about you in general. Your attitude altogether is not what's expected of a Gundam pilot, and you know it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Duo retorted, both hurt and taken aback at the remark.

"Come, Duo, you know what I mean. You're too laid back and so uncooperative at times. We can't afford you just going off on a tangent when you're supposed to be focused on the task in hand. Everybody else seems to be able to follow orders and abide by rules, so why can't you?"

"Everybody makes mistakes, Quatre," Duo mumbled, trying to retain at least some shred of dignity from Quatre's cutting words.

"Yes, I know they do, Duo, but that's not the point. You seem to be making them all the time and it's just not on. All we ask is for you to be focused on the missions and execute them with minimal difficulty."

"I try, Quatre, really I do! What more do you want me to say?" Duo exclaimed, slamming his fists on the table in frustration.

"It's not what we want you to say, Duo. It's what we want you to do." At that, Duo looked at Quatre completely nonplussed, confused over what he had just said. Quatre gave another exasperated sigh, before continuing, "Actions speak louder than words, Duo. If you had actually proved to us that you could follow our orders, then we wouldn't be in this mess now. That disc was everything, Duo, everything we needed to bring OZ down! Now we're back to square one and it's all your fault. We've even got the Preventers on our backs, berating us over the failed mission, all because of you and your stupidity. The rest of the guys and I are absolutely furious with you, and you've still got the cheek to sit there and demand that we _'cut you some slack'!_ You're unbelievable at times, Duo, really _bloody_ unbelievable!" At that, Quatre stood up abruptly, slightly red-faced and angrier than Duo had ever seen him before.

"Alright, alright, Quatre! _Just calm down!_ I hear you, okay?" Duo replied, panicked, standing up also to prevent the boy from leaving.

"That's just it, Duo. You're hearing me, but not listening! And it's not until you start listening to us and actually think about what you've done that we'll forgive you. Until we find that you're truly sorry."

With that, Quatre fled the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. Duo stared after him for several moments, fairly shocked over the blond's sudden and uncharacteristic fury. He then flopped into his seat to begin contemplating everything that had just transpired, his breakfast cold and long forgotten.


	3. Shattered Glass

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**CHAPTER THREE: SHATTERED GLASS**

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Duo yawned and glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece, noting that it had just gone a quarter past six. The rest of the day had passed by agonizingly slowly, what with it being boring and completely uneventful. Trowa and Quatre had locked themselves away in the music room with firm instructions to be left alone. Heero had disappeared into his bedroom soon after to begin typing up the report from their latest mission, and Wufei had departed likewise, busying himself with practicing his katas and customary meditating routine. Duo had therefore been left entirely on his own, with no company and nothing to do. By midday, he had had no other choice but to resign to the living room and watch television, remaining there ever since. He must have dropped off to sleep a couple of times at least out of sheer boredom, having found nothing even remotely interesting to watch throughout his various channel-surfing frenzies. Stretching, Duo slowly drew himself up from his sprawled position on the couch and moved to turn off the TV, yet another banal sitcom making its appearance on the screen.

The American then crossed the room, rearranging the cushions back into an orderly fashion and picking up his empty mug from the coffee table. He then exited the room, mug in hand, and made his way down the hall, his step faltering, however, as he neared the kitchen. The remaining four Gundam pilots were sat at the table, having just begun their evening meal. Somewhat surprised at their presence and slightly perplexed as to why the door had been left open, Duo took a deep breath before entering the kitchen quietly, donning the appearance of someone carefree and seemingly unaware of them being there. He proceeded to the sink, depositing his mug within, and then turned back round to make a swift exit.

"Maxwell, wait," Heero ordered just as he was about to leave, the Japanese boy shifting in his seat to regard the braided pilot.

Duo met the boy's hard stare for a moment, before dropping his gaze and shuffling his feet against the tiled floor, his pitiful façade falling to pieces as his nerves got the better of him.

"Your dinner's getting cold," Heero stated, feeling a sudden swell of satisfaction at the American's obvious discomfort and unease.

Surprised, Duo looked up quickly, a glimmer of hope flitting across his face.

Seeing this, Heero added scathingly, "Don't go getting the wrong idea, Maxwell. This is by no means an act of forgiveness on our part, but rather a mere safety precaution. From past experience, we deem it best not to let you loose in the kitchen. Either that or risk you starving yourself to death."

Heero then turned away from Duo, meeting the pointed glare of aquamarine, Quatre deliberately reminding him of their previous conversation, wherein they had all agreed on softening their malice towards the braided pilot, in fear of taking things too far and really upsetting Duo in the process.

"Er, yeah… of course, Yuy. Thanks," Duo replied, shrugging off the harsh comment and smiling appreciatively at each of the pilots.

Quatre returned the smile briefly, before hardening his face into a stony mask once more. The blond then cleared his throat and said, "In the microwave, Duo. I expect it to be still warm."

"Thanks, Quat," Duo replied, moving to retrieve his food from said place.

He then sat down at the one remaining chair, located in between Wufei and Trowa, instantly wincing at the sudden pain in his leg. Quatre noted the grimace on his friend's face in slight alarm, immediately scanning the pilot's body for any telltale signs of injury or harm. He then dismissed it a moment later when Duo failed to acknowledge his intense scrutiny, the American's face resuming a blank expression as he began to eat.

The five ate in absolute silence, save for the occasional cough or random clinking of knives and forks. Gradually, the evening progressed, as did the proverbial silent treatment. Duo especially found the hostility become more and more unnerving, the usually talkative and energetic pilot finding it hard to keep from fidgeting or initiating conversation. He remained quiet and still like the rest of them, however, glad that he was at least eating with them again.

Having waited patiently until everybody had finished, Heero stood up and began clearing the dishes away. Standing also, more out of habit than anything else, Duo followed suit, taking Wufei's and his own plate and placing them with the others beside the sink. He then moved to retrieve the tea towel hanging beside the fridge, as Heero began to wash up, the other three exiting quietly and heading for the living room. It had become a general custom for Duo to assist in clearing up after every evening meal, paired up with either Heero or Wufei, who took it in turns. He didn't really mind, in fact had come to actually enjoy it, getting the opportunity to spend quality time with the two stoic pilots on a day-to-day basis. Duo realised, though, that this occasion was rather different from the others, hence deciding in hindsight to leave Heero alone and not engage him in their usual friendly banter. Minutes ticked by slowly, the two pilots working together in complete silence. Duo attempted to make eye contact with the Japanese boy every now and then, but Heero made sure to keep his icy exterior strong and unwavering.

Having finished with the last saucepan, Heero placed it on the draining board and began to wring the sponge free of remaining foam and soapsuds. He then began to wipe down the sink area with a cloth, accidentally bumping into Duo as he did so. Jumping at the sudden contact with the person he had been trying so hard to avoid, Duo dropped the glass tumbler he was drying, his surprise making him too slow to catch it before it smashed to the floor.

"_Shimatta!_" Heero cursed, flinging his cloth into the sink in frustration. "You'd better clear that up, Maxwell," he then growled, storming out the kitchen without a backward glance.

Duo was left standing there, slightly dazed, before blinking and letting his gaze fall to the ground, realising with a start what he had just done. Cursing vehemently under his breath, he bent down and began picking up the shards of broken glass, slicing his finger as he did so. Raising the digit to his mouth and sucking off the blood, the braided pilot closed his eyes in anguish, the sting of copper sharp on his tongue and the blade of hate wrenched deep within his heart.


	4. A War Of Words

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**CHAPTER FOUR: A WAR OF WORDS**

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Duo gave another tentative knock on the living room door, again not receiving any response from the occupants within. Sighing in exasperation, he let his arm fall to his side and moved to retreat to the solace of his room once more. Mounting the stairs two at a time, the American then had a sudden change of mind and bounded back down again, his long braid swinging wildly behind him. Without further hesitation, he yanked open the door and charged into the room, the need for a confrontation too great to be ignored a moment longer. Upon hearing the brash arrival of the braided pilot, Quatre could not help but inwardly flinch, fighting the urge to turn around by keeping his eyes locked on the television screen straight ahead of him. Heero did not even bat an eyelid, the obstinate Japanese boy remaining riveted to his laptop, not a single falter in his steady rhythm of tapping away at its keys. The other two pilots also remained stubbornly impassive, Trowa watching the cartoon with a sudden renewal of interest and Wufei simply turning the page of the newspaper in his hand.

With hands balled into tight fists and furious violet eyes ablaze with contempt, Duo stared incredulous at the group. He then stomped over to the television and switched it off with an assertive, almost violent force. Before the others could utter a single word of protest, Duo spun round and silenced them with a venomous glare, yelling obscenely,

"Don't even think about it! If you as so much as make a peep I'll pummel ya all to the ground! Got it?"

"Such idle threats, Maxwell," Wufei sneered, matching his glare with likewise malevolence and calmly folding his newspaper to put it to one side.

"Shut the fuck up, Chang!" Duo shot back, about to take a step towards the Chinese pilot but then deciding against it.

Taking a deep breath to quell the sudden urge of hitting the conceited boy in the face, Duo reverted his attention to the rest of the group, channelling all of his pent-up anger into what he was about to say.

"I've had enough of all this bullshit, guys; I can't take it any longer! Traipsing around the place like I'm some weak little kid, too scared to look at ya and _face you all like a man!_" Duo shouted, punctuating the last part by waving his fist in the air. "I'm tired of being treated like a piece of trash, all worthless and stupid just because I messed up on a mission. Can't you guys realise that I'm feeling guilty enough as it is? Dishing out the silent treatment and making me feel like shit is not helping matters at all. Can't you just drop it now? Give me a break… _please_? At least speak to me for crying out loud!"

"Some apology, Maxwell," Wufei scoffed, turning a disbelieving face to the Latino sitting next to him on the couch.

"But I already have apologized, _Chang_, only that wasn't good enough according to Quatre's books," Duo retorted, flashing the blond a look that radiated pure venom. In return, Quatre's cheeks turned a copious shade of pink, the Arabian quickly delving his face into his hands to hide his embarrassment. Satisfied, Duo shifted his glare back to Wufei, silently challenging him to continue with his repartee. When nothing came, Duo went on, "So come and get off your high horses, the whole lot of ya! I ain't gonna stand for your pretentious and self-righteous crap any longer!"

"Care to expand on that, Maxwell? Just what exactly are you insinuating?" Heero's piercing monotone sounded from across the room, the Japanese pilot closing his laptop with a sharp _'click'_ and folding his arms to grace the American with a long, hard stare.

Wilting slightly under the intense glower of cobalt blue, Duo blinked and allowed his gaze to flit to the ground for a moment, before snapping his head back up and pinning the Japanese boy with an equally menacing glare.

"You know exactly what I mean, Yuy! You're all up yourselves! Treating me like absolute shit coz you think you're better than me! For God's sake, just _get over_ yourselves! Swallow your Goddamn pride! Everybody makes mistakes, _everybody_, yet you're so stuck up you can't see it! Heero… you call yourself 'The Perfect Soldier', but what the fuck is that? All I see is a child too big for his boots, a little boy who likes to think he's a man but…"

"Enough, Maxwell," Wufei interjected sternly, the order halting the American mid-sentence.

"_Don't you dare fucking tell me what to do, Chang!_" Duo screamed, charging up to the Chinese pilot until they were mere feet apart.

"Duo!" Quatre shrieked, scrambling to his feet in alarm.

"Stay the fuck out of this, Quatre!" Duo yelled over his shoulder, again drawing his eyes to the Chinese boy sitting directly in front of him. "This is between me and this prick."

"Care to repeat that, Maxwell?" Wufei challenged, standing up to brave the braided pilot face-to-face.

"You heard, Chang," Duo snarled, stepping closer and adopting the notorious fight or flight stance. He then hissed scathingly, "_I hate you so much right now._"

"The feeling's mutual," Wufei countered, onyx eyes dancing and alight with detest. Taken aback, Duo blinked, taking a moment or so to digest the wicked quip before hardening his face into a scowl once again.

"Flaming coward," Duo muttered a moment later, shaking his head and turning to go.

Grabbing his arm and yanking him back round, Wufei roared, "What was that, Maxwell?!"

"I said that you're a flaming coward!" Duo shot back. "A pompous, arrogant piece of shit that has a stick the size of Tallgeese shoved up his ass! A prick too scared to swallow his Goddamn pride, too much of a coward to forgive."

Upon hearing such brazen insults to his strict adherence of honour and justice, Wufei was knocked tenfold, awakening a second later with a furious eruption of anger, the last of his resolve shattering to pieces. Without warning, he lunged at the American pilot with brutal force, a strangled cry escaping his throat as he punched Duo in the face. He then proceeded in landing a series of blows to the braided boy's cheeks and jaw, Duo barely having time to register what was going on let alone being able to fight back. Startled at the sudden outbreak, Trowa immediately leaped up from the couch and set about blocking Wufei's blows, at the same time restraining Duo who had since recovered and was getting ready to strike.

"Get the fuck off me, Trowa!" Duo yelled, thrashing wildly against the Latino's steadfast grip in a desperate bid to break free and pounce upon the Chinese pilot.

Trowa's hold only strengthened, however, the braided pilot feeling himself being forcibly dragged away by the taller boy. Growling in frustration, Duo swivelled round and blindly lashed out, his fist colliding hard with the unibanged boy's cheek. Stunned by the unexpected blow, Trowa instantly released his hold on the American and clutched his face in a mixture of pain and disbelief. Incredulity soon dissipating into that of pure rage, Trowa then pinned the boy with a furious emerald glare, advancing towards the American at an alarming speed. Before Duo even had a chance to consider his next move, he was mercilessly punched in the stomach, doubling over at the intense pain as he was effectively winded.

"Bastard!" Trowa bellowed, grabbing the braided pilot by the hair and ramming him against the wall, an expensive looking picture smashing to the ground from the sheer magnitude of the slam.

Shouting out in pain as his head collided with the wall behind him, Duo tried to push the Latino away, blinking his eyes furiously to rid them of their momentary bleariness. Getting ready to strike again, Trowa was suddenly pulled back by Quatre, the small blond on the verge of tears and begging him to stop. Conceding to the boy's earnest pleas, Trowa reluctantly lowered his fist and turned away from the American, moving to resume his place on the couch and stare noncommittally at the fireplace ahead of him. Quatre, his face awash with gratitude and relief, came to sit beside the disgruntled pilot, clasping the boy's hand in his own and whispering a hushed, "Thank you," in his ear. Turning to regard the Arabian, Trowa gave a brief nod and then closed his eyes, letting his head fall upon the soft leather of the sofa and expelling a long breath of air.

Hesitantly, Duo lifted his head and peered meekly through his messy bangs at the four pilots, realising dejectedly that his little outburst had done nothing but infuriate them even more. With a sigh, he detached himself from the wall and began to gingerly dab his nose, frowning at the specks of blood that lightly accumulated on his hand.

"Well congratulations, Duo. I think your apology has to be the most colourful one yet. Or daresay the most enlightening at least," Wufei sneered haughtily, his voice disparaging and dripping with sarcasm.

"Affirmative," Trowa quipped in agreement, gifting the braided pilot with an icy glare.

Eyes downcast and hands fidgeting with the ends of his braid, Duo mumbled, "Getting into a fight was not what I intended," his voice so low it was barely discernible.

At that, Wufei laughed derisively, "Pray tell, Maxwell. Just what exactly did you think would happen in that warped little mind of yours, spurting insults and shouting the odds like you did?"

Feeling his blood begin to boil with renewed anger, Duo replied fervently, "Pray tell, Chang. Just when exactly do you plan to grow up and stop acting like a complete ass?"

Wufei audibly sucked in a deep breath, making it visible to the other pilots that he was trying his utmost to retain a calm and collected composure, instigating a firm resilience to not leap up and break every bone in the American's body. Duo in turn smiled smugly at this, feeling a deep swell of satisfaction and pride that he was the victor of their nasty and somewhat mordant battle of tongues.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Maxwell," came Heero's sharp reproach, the Japanese pilot, having remained seated throughout their scuffle, finally standing and advancing slowly towards the braided boy.

"Oh, the mighty Yuy has finally decided on making an appearance… _how fucking fitting_. What? You gonna mess with me as well then, huh? Well come on, what ya waiting for? Land me a punch right here," Duo taunted, jerking a fist towards his jaw. "Or perhaps here," he added, moving the fist to his right eye, "another black eye would work wonders, don't ya think?"

In response, Heero let out a long, broken laugh, now standing only a metre or so from the bristling American. Quatre watched the scene unfolding before him with not a little degree of trepidation, eying both pilots with palpable worry.

"Oh, Duo… I wouldn't tempt Yuy with such a delectable offer if I were you," Wufei laughed, running his fingers through his slick black hair and smiling with unveiled delight at the American's approaching encounter with the formidable pilot of Wing.

"Will you just shut the fuck up, Chang?!" Duo yelled, reverting back to his earlier fury at the Chinese pilot's endless sarcasm and pitifully poor sense of humour.

He was about to take a lunge at him, this time intent on causing some serious damage, when he was forcibly yanked back by Heero, merciless fingers digging painfully deep into the flesh of his upper arm. Duo audibly expressed his discomfort with an angry howl of protest, pushing the Japanese pilot aggressively away to get him to let go. Heero remained disconcertingly resolute, choosing instead to tighten his punishing grip and prevent Duo from pouncing on the now snickering Chinese boy. This, however, only drove Duo's vehemence even more, the American wildly thrashing at the Japanese pilot with his free hand and finally succeeding in clobbering him on the side of the face. Furious, Heero released his arm and pushed the braided pilot backwards with irrefutable force; so huge that Duo toppled right over and bashed his head on the side of the coffee table.

Out of nothing short of sheer agony, Duo openly winced, articulating his pain with a loud, anguished cry. Exhaling raggedly, he then closed his eyes in a bid to salvage the last of his dignity and prevent the others from seeing his defeat and downright humiliation. He could feel not only the maddening thrumming of his head, but also the sickening tear of his leg wound, the ferocity of the fall having made the skin split open again and blood to gush out, seeping through the pilot's dark trousers and onto the grey carpet underneath in crimson rivulets. Opening his eyes, he met the staring faces of his four co-pilots, who, all except from Quatre, looked indubitably pleased at his now subdued and somewhat uncompromised state.

"Fuck off," he hissed bitterly, gritting his teeth and grimacing as he slowly got to his feet. Without looking at any of them, he began to make his way across the room, staggering slightly and shuddering at the pain that shot up his leg with each step he took.

"Duo!" Quatre shrieked in alarm, his voice so shrill that the American froze on the spot.

Behind him, the others looked quizzically at Quatre, obviously confused at the blond's sudden outburst and decidedly horrified expression. They then followed the frantic pilot's hand as it pointed shakily to the floor, noticing for the first time the pool of blood that glistened in the room's artificial light. Sensing the pilots' dawning realization over his injury, Duo instantly tensed and made a beeline for the door, desperate to avoid the confrontation he knew would arise in only a matter of seconds.

"I knew it!" Quatre screeched, tears welling in his aquamarine eyes as he pointed accusingly at the American's back. "I knew it! I knew he was injured right from the start! His leg – earlier on at the table he had trouble sitting – and now! Look! Oh Allah! Look! It's, it's bleeding… _Duo's_ _bleeding!_"

To exemplify the point, Quatre marched over to the American and roughly spun him round so that he had no choice but to face the entire group. Embarrassed and not a little peeved at the Arabian, Duo stared intently at the floor, refusing to look at any of the pilots standing before him.

"Maxwell," Heero called threateningly, folding his arms across his chest and tapping his foot on the carpet, mirroring that of a parent scolding a naughty child.

With an exasperated sigh, Duo flicked his head up to glare at the Japanese pilot.

"What?" he demanded hotly, masking his growing anxiety with a seemingly angry stance. His involuntary step backwards, however, was not lost by the other four boys and instead revealed to them his current state of unease.

"You tell us," came Trowa's terse reply.

At that, Duo averted his eyes and, with a careless shrug of his shoulders, replied absently, "Dunno what you're talking about." He then turned around and began moving towards the door again.

"Show us your leg," Heero ordered, steadily eyeing the American's retreating form.

Limping, Duo glanced over his shoulder and questioned innocently, "What?" feigning confusion by furrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head.

"Show us your leg," Heero repeated, gritting his teeth at the American's deliberate, albeit pointless, stalling. A strained silence then followed as Duo stopped in his tracks.

"No," the American stated firmly, twisting around and facing the group with narrowed violet eyes.


	5. Grim Discovery

OoOoOoOoOoOo

**CHAPTER FIVE: GRIM DISCOVERY**

OoOoOoOoOoOo

"I won't tell you again,' Heero said, deadpan, completely unaffected by the American's sour mood.

"_I won't tell you again_," Duo mimicked nastily, screwing up his face in contempt. "Like I give a shit."

With a cold look, he turned his back on the group and, bracing himself against the now excruciating pain, limped towards the door again. Riled, Wufei rushed forward, easily overtaking the hobbling pilot and standing before the door, blocking Duo's escape. Exasperated, Duo gave an angry shout and attempted to shove him out of the way. Wufei retaliated by grabbing hold of Duo's arms and twisting them behind his back, signalling for Trowa to come and assist him. Trowa hurried over and restrained the struggling American with ease, allowing Wufei to let go without getting punched in the face.

"I swear I'm gonna kill you, Chang!" Duo screamed, thrashing wildly to escape Trowa's ferric grip and throttle the Chinese pilot.

Ignoring him, Wufei crouched behind Duo and, without warning, yanked his trousers down so that they pooled at his ankles. _Good thing they're drawstring_, Wufei noted wryly, visualising the pandemonium had they been Duo's designer jeans. Alarmed, Duo yelled out in protest and began kicking the Chinese pilot away with his uninjured leg. With sharp reflexes instilled from years of training, Wufei dodged the furious kicks and pinned the American's foot to the ground with his own leg. He then leaned in to locate the source of bleeding and, seeing the shoddy bandage above Duo's right knee, began to unravel the now sodden material. Confident that Trowa had the incensed pilot under control, Quatre came to kneel beside the Chinese pilot. He waited anxiously, heart thudding, as Wufei carefully worked the bandage free and then, when the last of the material was flung into a bloody heap on the floor, he shuffled forward to examine the gushing wound. Apprehending Duo's injury for the first time, Quatre gasped in horror, feeling nauseous over the quantity of blood that seeped from the cut.

"H-Heero, you need to t-take a look at this," Quatre stammered, turning to the Japanese pilot and staggering to his feet, "I think he needs stitches."

Disturbed by Quatre's actions, Heero rushed forward to take the blond's place. He knelt down to inspect the wound, immediately becoming aggravated at the continuous flow of blood that prevented him from seeing the actual wound.

"Chikuso! I can't see with all this damn blood in the way," he snapped. Annoyed, he glanced around and then seized the bloody rag from the floor, screwing it up and pressing it hard against the wound. Caught off guard, Duo hissed in pain, cursing.

"Get the fuck off me, Heero! That fucking kills!"

"Don't be such a cry-baby," Trowa chastised, tightening his hold on the American.

"Baka! I need to stop the bleeding!" Heero berated, applying even more pressure to reiterate the point.

"AAAHHH!!! Ow! Fuck!" Duo screamed, tears springing to his eyes.

After a few more minutes of firm pressure, the bleeding finally abated. Carefully, Heero removed the rag and tossed it over his shoulder.

"See, Duo," he chided, standing up to face the American. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Sniffing, Duo nodded, his heart still hammering in his chest but his breathing finally under control. Allowing the braided pilot to compose himself first, Heero waited in silence.

He then continued, "That's some nasty cut there, Maxwell. It'll need to be stitched up, and quick. Quatre, fetch me the first aid kit from the bathroom. Wufei, Trowa – go clear the kitchen table. I'll perform the procedure there."

The three pilots nodded and swiftly left the room. Duo swallowed hard and stared uneasily at the floor, aware that he was now completely alone with the Japanese pilot. In truth, he was terrified with the prospect of getting stitches, the very thought making his stomach do summersaults and his palms to clam up. Although he knew it was futile to protest, he decided to take a shot and ask Heero to reconsider. He hobbled forward and was just about to open his mouth when, at that very instant, Trowa returned with a glass of water and a painkiller. Duo's face darkened and he inwardly cursed the Latino's bad timing.

"Here," Trowa said, handing them to Duo, "it's going to be pretty painful."

"Thanks," Duo snapped, taking the water but ignoring the pill, "I'm parched."

"The pill too," Heero ordered, folding his arms and glaring at the American.

"No, thanks. I can do without. I'm a Gundam pilot after all," Duo shrugged, taking another sip.

He had never fully revealed to his teammates that, since he was a little boy and had undergone his training as a Gundam pilot, he had a strong aversion to any kind of drugs. Professor G had insisted that pain relief was a sign of weakness and cowardice, and so had conditioned Duo to suffer a wave of nausea and drowsiness every time he ingested a pharmaceutical. Unlucky for Duo, his secrecy had now cost him the right to refuse the drug, as his genuine reason would now only appear to be a lie and petty excuse to get out of the situation. Besides, Heero was one tough cookie, impossible to break and adamant in getting his own way.

"You swallow that pill now or I'll ram it down your throat. Your call, Maxwell."

Duo sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue. He resentfully took the pill from Trowa and swallowed it with a gulp of water. "Shithead," he muttered under his breath.

Seconds later, Quatre returned with the medical kit, entering the room a little timidly.

"Good," Heero acknowledged, turning his attention back to Duo. "What are you waiting for, Maxwell? Kitchen. Now."

The Japanese pilot then turned on his heel and left the room. Not a little scared at the upcoming procedure, Duo gritted his teeth and, rather unsteadily, began to walk towards the door. Quatre and Trowa immediately came to his aid, each taking an arm and helping the braided pilot maintain his balance.

Entering the kitchen, Duo noticed that the fruit bowl had been moved over to the counter and that the tablecloth had been rolled up and tucked safely under a chair. He then spotted Heero sporting a pair of latex gloves and rummaging through the first aid box. His eyes widened with fear when the Japanese pilot pulled out a syringe, the needle glinting and flashing menacingly in the light.

"Uh, actually, Heero, my leg feels fine! It doesn't need stitches! Honest!"

Heero chuckled in response, having expected Duo to protest.

"And that's your diagnosis, Maxwell? Leaving your wound to get infected or, indeed, letting you bleed to death? Tell me, since when were you the medic of the group?"

Wufei sniggered.

"No need to be nasty, Heero. I'm just saying that I feel better now," Duo replied in earnest.

"Come, we both know that isn't true, Maxwell. So hurry up and get on that table. You're wasting time."

Sighing, Duo gingerly stepped out of his trousers and, with Quatre's help, climbed onto a chair and then onto the wooden table, laying down on his front. In this position, he felt extremely vulnerable and exposed, and so tugged his shirt down to cover his boxer shorts.

"Quit faffing about, Duo. We've all seen you in various states of undress before," Trowa chided, aware that Heero was now ready to begin.

Cheeks reddening with embarrassment, Duo ceased his efforts at modesty and let his arms fall to his sides. Satisfied, Heero moved forward and began dabbing away the blood with an antiseptic pad, the sharp sting causing Duo to involuntarily flinch and shuffle away.

"Quit moving, baka! Or we'll bind you to the table," Heero warned, displeased.

Wufei smirked at the reproach, unable to conceal his mirth.


	6. Of Stitches And Solitude

OoOoOoOoOoOo

**CHAPTER SIX: OF STITCHES AND SOLITUDE**

OoOoOoOoOoOo

"Owww-ah-ow-ow-OUCH! HEERO! YOU JERK!!" Duo yelled, kicking the Japanese pilot's hand away as he frantically tried to scramble off the table.

"Duo!" Heero shouted, annoyed, as the antiseptic pad he had been using to clean the wound was suddenly knocked out of his hand and landed on the floor.

Immediately, Trowa and Wufei stepped forward and grabbed the recalcitrant pilot before he managed to clamber completely off the table. They wrestled him back into position and restrained him there, facedown, Trowa pinning Duo's arms firmly to the table and Wufei leaning down hard on the American's back and upper thighs. Quatre watched the frenzied scene before him with wide eyes, wringing the hem of his shirt in both awe and consternation. Heero simply stood, rubbing his hand and glaring at the now prostrate American. He bent down to retrieve the fallen pad, inspected it, and then angrily tossed it across the kitchen where it landed deftly in the bin. With a growl, he stormed over to the first aid box where he rummaged inside to find a new one. Frustrated, he tore open its wrapper and pressed the fresh, cold, sterile pad onto Duo's open wound with much more force than was necessary. Duo hissed and tried to buck against Wufei and Trowa to escape the sharp sting, but the sadistic pilots simply smirked and strengthened their punishing hold on him.

Continuing to press the antiseptic pad hard on the wound, Heero berated, "Idiot! I told you not to move! You've just wasted one of our antiseptic pads. In case you hadn't noticed, our supplies are running very short and we're hardly in a position to leave this safehouse to replenish them!"

"It STINGS!" Duo protested, biting his lip.

"Stop being pathetic," Heero growled, removing the pad, folding it once and using the clean side to dab away at the remaining blood.

"Trowa, would you mind easing off a little? My arms are going numb," Duo complained, trying to shove the unibanged pilot off his arms.

"We have no choice but to restrain you, Maxwell. I told you not to move, but you've once again proven that you can't follow simple instructions. Trowa is not to let you go before the procedure is finished," Heero said sternly, continuing to wipe away the blood.

"Understood," Trowa confirmed, giving the Japanese pilot a small nod. Aware of Duo's discomfort, though, he silently relented by loosening his grip by a small fraction. Heero observed this, but said nothing, resuming his task of preparing the wound for suturing. Duo was grateful and rather surprised at this granted space, and instantly flexed his arm muscles to relieve them from the awkward position they had been in.

"You too, Wufei. My back's not a frigging pillow, you know," Duo called behind to the Chinese pilot who was still leaning heavily on top of him.

As was expected, Wufei chose to contravene rather than honour the American's request, smiling wickedly and pressing down even harder on Duo's lower body.

"Dickhead!" Duo yelled, trying to dislodge the black-haired youth.

"Enough, Maxwell! One more word out of you and I'll gag you," Heero warned, now ready to begin stitching up the wound and tired of Duo's continued impertinence.

"Humph!" Duo huffed, indignant.

"Is that clear, Maxwell?" Heero pressed, folding his arms.

"Crystal," Duo snapped.

"Good."

With that, Heero threw the second antiseptic pad into the bin, satisfied that the majority of blood had been sufficiently wiped away. He returned to the first aid box and carefully picked up the syringe he had filled with lidocaine whilst he was waiting for Duo to enter the kitchen.

"Maxwell. I am now going to inject some anaesthetic into your wound. I have added epinephrine to the lidocaine solution to help keep the bleeding at bay. You'll experience a burning sensation at first, but after a few minutes the area will go numb. Any questions?"

"Yeah. Will you shut the hell up and let me go?"

"Maxwell," Heero warned, tapping his foot.

"At least put me to sleep, then! Sheesh! These two dumbfucks wouldn't have to hold me down then, would they?"

Both Trowa and Wufei bristled at this remark, but chose to ignore the braided pilot despite their renewed hatred for him. Quatre simply shook his head and stared at Duo in disbelief.

"As much as I would like to anaesthetize your entire body and consequently send you to the land of Nod, I regrettably haven't got the resources to do so. You're going to have to settle with a local anaesthetic this time, Maxwell, but I'll make a note to ask Sally for a supply of general anaesthetic, just for you, on our next encounter."

"Whatever," Duo snapped angrily. "Just get on with it. It's not going to stitch itself up, you know. Dumbass."

"Precisely my point, you imbecile. If you'd stop fussing like a child, I could get on with the procedure. You're the one holding everything up, Maxwell."

Pleased when Duo failed to deliver another scathing remark, Heero rolled up his latex gloves and moved toward the braided pilot, syringe in hand.

"Here we go," he announced, bending forward and injecting generous amounts of the fluid inside the wound and under the surrounding skin.

Duo squirmed slightly as the anaesthetic flooded his wound uncomfortably, and closed his eyes when it began to throb and burn. He held his breath and refused to voice his discomfort, not wanting to give his co-pilots any more satisfaction over his misery. Over the next few minutes, the burning sensation gradually subsided until, finally, the area went numb. Heero watched the clock patiently, his face expressionless. Once precisely ten minutes had passed, he let his gaze fall from the clock and onto the prostrate American.

"I'm going to explore your wound now, Maxwell. Tell me if you feel any pain."

Heero gently prodded the skin around the wound and watched the back of Duo's head carefully to gage his reaction.

"Well?" he asked, continuing to poke the wound. "Does it hurt?"

Duo opened his eyes and shuffled his legs slightly. He no longer felt any pain, just the pressure of Heero's fingers as they pressed down on the wound.

"No," Duo sighed, "the area's completely numb."

"Good," Heero replied, a slight smile of relief curling his lips. "Quatre," he called, turning to face the blond pilot. "Pass me the syringe filled with sterile saline. I need to irrigate the wound before I stitch it up."

"Sure, o-okay," Quatre murmured, hurrying to the first aid box and handing Heero the wanted item. He then swallowed and stepped backwards, resuming his place in front of the kitchen sink.

"Listen, Heero," Duo called, his voice sweet and obliging, "Do you think Trowa and Wufei can let go of me now? I promise I'll do exactly what you say and I'll keep dead still. Promise."

Heero considered Duo's request for a moment, and then, though rather sceptical, acquiesced. "On one condition, Maxwell: that you won't move an inch. I'm warning you."

"Sure! You got it! I swear I won't budge an inch," Duo asserted eagerly.

"Hn. We'll see, Maxwell," Heero replied, rolling his eyes. He looked up and nodded to Trowa and Wufei. "Release him."

Trowa did so immediately, though Wufei was a little hesitant.

"You sure, Yuy?" Wufei asked, his raised eyebrows making his disapproval evident.

"Yes, for the moment. He's given us his word. Haven't you, Maxwell?"

"Yes, I have!" Duo exclaimed, nodding his head vigorously.

"Very well," Wufei conceded, begrudgingly releasing the American.

Duo articulated his relief with a happy sigh, stretching his arms and legs and shifting into a more comfortable position.

"Okay, Heero. Whenever you're ready."

Without further prompting, Heero leaned over Duo's leg once more and squirted the sterile saline into the wound. With his other hand, he collected the excess saline with a medical cloth, which absorbed the clear liquid as it trickled down Duo's leg. Once the syringe was empty, Heero dipped its nozzle into the bottle of saline and refilled the syringe. He then repeated the process of irrigating the wound twice more, ensuring that there was no foreign objects left inside the wound.

"Right," Heero announced, standing upright and placing the syringe and damp cloth on the table, "I'm ready to apply the stitches. Quatre, pass me the suturing kit, please."

Quatre ran his fingers through his hair, and then moved to retrieve the suturing kit from the medical box.

"Here," he said, handing the kit to Heero. "Please be careful."

"Don't worry, Winner. I know what I'm doing," Heero reassured the blond pilot, giving him a small smile.

"This won't take long, Maxwell," Heero, regaining his stoic composure, informed the American. "In a few minutes, this will all be over."

"Okay, Heero. Go ahead and work your magic," Duo replied a little apprehensively, gulping and clenching his sweaty fists. In truth, he was terrified with the prospect of getting stitches, and wanted nothing more than to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

Taking heed of the American's growing impatience, Heero opened the suturing kit and began threading the curved needle with the black, nylon suture.

"Remember, Maxwell. Keep still."

Without further ado, he began stitching up the wound. He decided it would be best to close the wound with a series of interrupted stitches – separate stitches that were unconnected and knotted individually. Face screwed up in utmost concentration, Heero paid close attention to the procedure, making sure he brought the two edges of skin together properly, but not too tightly.

Duo felt the pulling and tugging of the needle, but, thankfully, absolutely no pain. He knew that Heero was an expert in these types of things, and this helped to ease his worries and apprehension a little. Though, he continued to clench his fists and stare at the cooker straight ahead of him. He told himself over and over that soon it would all be over, and that he would be able to climb off the wretched, makeshift 'operating' table and find solace in his bedroom upstairs. He couldn't wait to escape the garish glint of the kitchen light and snuggle deep into the confines of his duvet and pillows, away from the cold, unfeeling light and into the comforting darkness of night. For the past couple of nights, Duo had not been sleeping very well, probably due to all the friction and animosity bouncing between them lately. But, after all the fiasco of the day, Duo was now completely drained both mentally and physically, and desired nothing more than a good night's sleep. He'd tackle everything else in the morning.

As Heero was busy knotting the fourth stitch, Wufei went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. He then came to stand beside Duo again, drinking the water and watching the Japanese pilot over the rim of his glass. After a few sips, he lowered the glass from his lips and dangled it over Duo's left arm. Making sure no one was watching, he tilted the glass by a fraction, letting a few drops of icy water fall onto Duo's bare skin. Duo instantly jumped and yelped in surprise, causing Heero to break his concentration and drop the needle on the floor.

"Bastard!" Duo yelled, lifting himself up by his forearms and twisting backwards to glare at the Chinese pilot. "You stupid fucking prick!"

"Duo!" Heero bellowed furiously, slamming his fist on the wooden table. "Control yourself! What part of 'don't move' don't you understand?!"

"It wasn't my fault! Wufei poured water on me deliberately!" Duo insisted. He then turned back to Wufei and growled, "You fucking wait, Chang! I'm gonna tear you limb from limb!"

"Enough, Maxwell! Another word out of you and I swear I'll do something we'll both regret."

"But, Heero! Look at him! Look at the fucking prick! He's laughing at me!" Duo cried, pointing at the grinning black-haired pilot.

"I don't care, Maxwell. Lie back down and shut the hell up. Now."

Duo sighed, defeated, and lay back down on the table. Silently, he cursed and fumed at the cruel Chinese pilot and inwardly vowed to get his revenge. Certain that Duo wouldn't get up again, Heero glanced over at Wufei, who had turned his back to the group to hide his mirth. Eying the Chinese pilot suspiciously, Heero bent down to retrieve the fallen needle, but couldn't find it for it had rolled under one of the kitchen units.

"Chikuso!" Heero cursed under his breath, opening up the suturing kit again to get the spare sterile needle.

Rolling up his gloves, he leaned over Duo's leg again and continued stitching the wound up. Over the next few minutes, he expertly applied a further five stitches, so that there were nine in total. Everybody was quiet for these remaining stitches, knowing better than to truly incite the Japanese pilot's wrath. Once he had finished checking that each stitch was firm and fastened securely, Heero covered the entire wound with Neosporin gel, a topical antibiotic used to prevent the risk of infection. He then placed sterile gauze on top of the newly stitched wound and carefully wrapped it around Duo's upper leg.

"All done," Heero declared, removing his gloves and standing back to admire his handiwork.

Wufei turned around to acknowledge the bandaged leg with a slight nod, and Quatre breathed a sigh of relief, his complexion still unusually pallid and sweaty.

"Finally," Duo sighed, taking a shaky breath and gingerly climbing off the table.

He had to steady himself as the foot of his injured leg touched the floor, but after a moment he was able to stand up without holding onto the back of the chair for support. He turned around and examined the fresh bandage, and then looked to Heero and smiled appreciatively.

"Thanks, Heero. You've done a great job."

"You're welcome, Maxwell," Heero replied stiffly, still extremely annoyed with the American pilot.

Sensing the lingering hostility, Duo cleared his throat and then said, "Well, I'll get to bed now, I think. I'm knackered."

"Why, Duo?" Quatre murmured, his bottom lip quivering slightly.

Duo turned to face the blond pilot, "Huh? What did you say, Quatre?"

"Why didn't you tell us about your leg? It really is a serious injury, Duo, and it would have become infected before long."

"I didn't think you'd care," Duo mumbled, staring at the tiled floor with embarrassment and feeling a lump in his throat.

"Oh, Duo! Of course we'd care, silly!" Quatre cried, running around the table and pulling the braided pilot into a fierce hug.

Duo returned the embrace a little awkwardly, aware that the other pilots were watching them. Quatre continued to squeeze the American tightly, until he caught the angry glare from Wufei. He swallowed guiltily and let go of Duo, stepping back and putting his hands in his pockets.

"Failing to tell us was very irresponsible of you, Maxwell," Heero chided, breaking the awkward silence. "Had your wound become seriously infected, we would have had no choice but to escort you from this safehouse to seek medical attention. That in itself would have proven most detrimental and given OZ the perfect opportunity to detect our whereabouts. Do you realise what I'm saying, Maxwell? Your stupidity and recklessness could have cost us our lives!"

Duo hung his head in shame.

"I didn't realise my leg was that bad. Honest."

"And since when does your opinion count for anything?" Wufei laughed cruelly.

"Shut it, Chang," Duo snarled, scowling at the Chinese youth.

"Enough, Maxwell," Heero ordered. "I think it's time you went to bed now."

"Yeah," Duo conceded, knowing that his irritability was partially down to his lack of sleep. "I'll meet you upstairs, Heero?"

"Absolutely not, Maxwell. I'll be sleeping downstairs with Wufei until further notice. I'm still furious with you, baka. We all are. We tended to your injury out of necessity, not out of compassion. It doesn't take a genius to work that one out."

"Is that true, Quatre?" Duo asked the blond pilot in front of him. "Is it?"

Quatre, at a loss for words, glanced over at Trowa who closed his eyes and nodded his head.

"Yes, Duo," Quatre whispered, hanging his head miserably.

"Fine. Suit yourselves. Fucking assholes," Duo replied angrily.

He felt so hurt and betrayed. Surely after this incident, they would find it in their hearts to forgive him, right? How could they be so capricious, so ambivalent and so apathetic? Was he some sort of toy that they could use and then discard of whenever they pleased? Did he not have any feelings at all? Was he not allowed to be human? A human, who by nature, makes mistakes? Obviously not. His mind reeling, he bent down to pick up his trousers, but decided against putting them back on as they were soaked with blood. Instead, he rolled them up and tucked them underneath his arm, before pushing past Quatre to get to the door. But, as he turned the door handle, Heero called out to him.

"Maxwell. I forgot to say something."

Thinking the Japanese pilot had changed his mind, Duo smiled and turned around expectantly.

"The number of days suture should stay in depends on where the wound is. Stitches on the leg stay in for about one to two weeks. Watch for signs of infection, such as swelling, excessive tenderness, redness, heat or drainage. Be sure to change the outer bandage if it gets soiled or wet," Heero drawled in his monotone voice, as if directly reciting from a medical textbook.

"What-the-fuck-ever," Duo spat, whirling around and storming out the kitchen.

Livid, he limped down the hallway, and, clutching the banister for support, began to make his way slowly up the stairs. After climbing the sixth step, he had to pause to regain his breath. Sitting there alone on the stair, he took a couple of minutes to gather his thoughts. His attention was then drawn to the conversation filtering out from the kitchen…

"Anyone up for that game of poker?" Trowa asked the other pilots kindly.

"Yeah, sure. I'll get the sodas and pizza," Quatre offered, his voice bright and cheerful.

"Sounds good," Wufei smiled, clapping his hands. "What about you, Yuy?"

"Sure. Why not?" Heero replied, clearing away the medical kit.

Duo listened to the conversation in disbelief. How could they be so callous? How could they be so damn cruel? He fought to stave off the burning tears that threatened to fall, determined not to cry. But a sudden burst of laughter that erupted from the kitchen made his heart twist and gnarl with hurt and rejection. Suddenly, it was as though something inside him broke – he began sobbing, unable to stop. He grabbed onto the banister and yanked himself to his feet, continuing to mount the stairs and enter the gloom and darkness above. His tears now fell freely and cascaded down his cheeks, mingling with his chestnut bangs and wetting the front of his shirt. He didn't even bother to stifle his sobs – his co-pilots were too busy playing poker to notice his lonely, pitiful cries.


	7. Web Of Despair

OoOoOoOoOoOo

**CHAPTER SEVEN: WEB OF DESPAIR**

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Sobbing pitifully, Duo mounted the stairs, trying his best to ignore the laughter spilling steadily out of the kitchen. Nearing the top, he suddenly gripped the banister with both hands to fight off a fierce wave of dizziness and nausea. _Those damn pills_, Duo vehemently cursed, as he held onto the banister even tighter in fear that he would lose his balance and tumble back down the stairs. Panting, he stumbled up the remaining steps and, rather unceremoniously, staggered onto the landing. There, in the semi-darkness, he leaned heavily against the wall and closed his eyes, mentally urging his mind to stop spinning and his stomach to stop churning so violently. Oscillating waves of immense pain now wracked his entire body, and, all over, his skin was covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat. As he swallowed and concentrated on getting his breathing back under control, the landing light was suddenly switched on from downstairs, casting him in a garish pool of bright light. Startled, Duo snapped his eyes open and blinked a few times to rid them of their fuzziness. Somewhere in his muddled mind, he registered the hurried footsteps of someone bounding up the carpeted staircase. He turned his head and peered at the approaching blurred figure, trying to distinguish who it was that loomed in front of him. As his vision came into sharper focus, Duo groaned out loud and let his head fall back against the wall. It was none other than Wufei Chang who now stood before him.

"Out of my way, Maxwell," Wufei barked, glaring at the American pilot impatiently.

Nauseous, Duo closed his eyes and remained where he was, certain that he would throw up if he made any sudden movements.

"I said get out of my way!" Wufei yelled, climbing the final step and clenching his fists, "You're blocking my path and I need to get to my room – the poker game's about to start!"

Duo opened his eyes and stared stupidly at the Chinese pilot, trying to process his heated words but becoming even more confused.

"Did you hear me, Maxwell?" Wufei demanded, angered by the American's continued silence and glaring recalcitrance.

Bleary-eyed, Duo continued to stare at the black-haired pilot, the pain so overwhelming that he was unable to think straight, let alone conjure up a suitable reply. Wufei, mistaking his dazed expression for deliberate and calculated impudence, instantly flew into another rage.

"Answer me, Maxwell!" he bellowed, shoving past the trembling American and then rounding on him, "How dare you ignore me?"

Before Duo had a chance to respond, Wufei seized both of his shoulders and pinned them hard against the wall. "You're treading on a very thin line, Maxwell. Continue with your impertinence and I'll…"

"Wufei!" Quatre admonished, having run up the stairs to investigate the commotion.

"Silence, Winner!" Wufei snapped, turning his attention back to Duo. "I've had enough with this son of a bitch! It's about time I taught him a lesson!"

"Wufei! Stop it!" Quatre cried, alarmed. "Look! Can't you see he isn't well?"

"I'm looking, Winner," Wufei retorted, beginning to shake the American pilot roughly by the shoulders, "And all I see is a brainless, pitiful, snivelling wreck!"

Agonised by the sudden, violent jerking, Duo was struck by another fierce wave of nausea, so giddying that he instantly clamped his mouth shut in fear of vomiting all over the seething Chinese pilot. Panicked and too weak to fight back, he shot Quatre another imploring look, begging the blond pilot to intervene with startled, violet eyes.

"Please, Wufei! Let him go!" Quatre pleaded, disturbed by the American's pallid and sweaty appearance.

Ignoring the blond Arabian, Wufei continued to berate the American. "Sulking like a spoiled child! How pathetic! Where's your pride? Where's your dignity?"

When Duo merely gulped and evaded the pilot's furious stare, Wufei shook him even harder despite Quatre's protests.

"Idiot! Answer me! How dare you continue with your insolent, childish, impertin–"

Wufei's tirade was cut short by Duo's terrified, telltale expression. And then, without further warning, the American promptly threw up on the unsuspecting Chinese pilot, his vomit splattering all over the boy's brilliant, white tunic. Wufei yelled out in alarm and stepped back, looking down his front in both horror and disgust. The putrid smell of vomit hit his nostrils full force and he had to fight the sudden urge of retching himself. Aghast, Duo stared at the spluttering Chinese pilot in disbelief, before cupping his hand over his mouth and clambering down the hall and into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock, before hobbling over to the toilet and, bent over double, hurling the contents of his stomach down into the toilet bowl. Retching, he paid little attention to the thundering of footsteps marching down the hall, but did jump at the Chinese pilot's crazed banging on the bathroom door, which was rather frightening.

"Open up this instant, Maxwell!" Wufei screamed, "If you don't, I'll knock this door down myself! I swear it!"

In complete agony, Duo gritted his teeth and mentally tried to shut out Wufei's impetuous threats. In despair, he was about to scream himself, when he heard Quatre's sweet voice rise above Wufei's ranting and incessant banging.

"Come on, Wufei. Please calm down. There's a washroom downstairs, isn't there? We can get you cleaned up there instead."

The banging instantly ceased, and Duo could hear Wufei's frustrated, though yielding, sigh.

"Very well, Winner. I guess you're right," the Chinese pilot said sullenly.

To his relief, Duo heard the two pilots turning to go, and anxiously watched, from the small gap underneath the door, their feet slowly disappear out of sight.

"Just wait until I get my hands on you, Maxwell!" Duo heard Wufei call from the stairs. "You can't stay in that bathroom forever!"

In retaliation, Duo stuck his middle finger up at the closed door. "Dickhead!" he shouted back, though he knew the Chinese pilot probably couldn't hear him.

Certain that he was finally alone, Duo slumped down beside the toilet and let his head fall into his hands. He felt much better now that he had disgorged his stomach contents, but this didn't reprieve him from his pounding headache and sore, heavy joints. What's more, he now had a disgusting aftertaste in his mouth and his throat stung something awful due to the acid and bile that he had brought up along with his vomit. He was pretty sure that the painkiller and local anaesthetic had worn off too, as he now keenly felt all of the bruises from his earlier brawl as well as the tenderness of his newly stitched leg. Without thinking, he stretched out his legs in a bid to find a more comfortable position, which resulted in his injured thigh making unpleasant contact with the tiled floor, spurring yet another surge of terrible pain. Naturally, the American hissed in agony and blinked back a new set of tears.

As the pain dulled down again, Duo concentrated on getting his breathing back under control. Having regained his composure, he then looked up and glanced miserably around at his surroundings. Though the bathroom was, thankfully, clean, it was rather small and cramped. The tiled floor was cold and unyielding, and the patterned curtains swayed eerily with the midnight wind that whistled softly through the small, open window. Moonlight filtered in through the frosted glass in jagged, distorted beams, casting the braided pilot in a ghostly pool of silver light. Duo shivered slightly at this, and pulled his knees closer to his chest despite the strain it put on his injured leg. He was staring, forlorn and deep in thought, into the semi-darkness when a small movement caught his eye. He glanced over at the marble sink, and, to his mild surprise, saw a spider weaving a web underneath it. He kept as still as possible and took the opportunity to marvel at the silken web, the way it glistened in the moonlight and displayed such a beautiful, intricate pattern. Watching, transfixed, the American couldn't stop the tears that rolled silently down his cheeks – staring at the spider made him think of his own wretched life, reminding him that he was, in fact, tangled in his own web of hatred and betrayal. Without meaning to, he let out a long, shuddering breath, which startled the black spider. The spider instantly froze on its web, before sliding down its glistening thread and landing on the floor. It then scurried across the tiles and into a small gap in the skirting board. _Great_, Duo thought bitterly, wiping his eyes. Now he was truly alone. Oh, how he wished he could be like that spider and crawl into a dark space, to hide away from the world, his problems and his awful existence.

In truth, Duo hadn't felt this dreadful in a long time, and, though he was a Gundam pilot, he was definitely not one to welcome pain. Through all his years of growing up as a nameless orphan on the harsh streets of L2 and then undergoing Professor G's rigorous training regime, he had developed the stealth and agility of a cat, an agility so uncanny that during missions he was able to avoid practically all risks of injury and detection. This is what made his recent slip-up so harrowing and so confusing – how did he manage to mess up so frigging bad? He knew his stupidity had cost his team a lot – if his blunder hadn't resorted in them aborting the mission and evacuating the building, they would have obtained the disc for sure. They would then be ahead of the game, that vital step closer to defeating OZ. As it was, they were now back to square one, and it was all his damned fault. Had he listened to Heero's instructions and not acted on instinct, he wouldn't be in this pitiful situation now. He wouldn't be curled up in a pathetic ball on the bathroom floor, crying like a lost, broken child. He had angered the people he cared about the most, and now had no one left to turn to. At least he was certain about one thing – he couldn't stay in this safehouse anymore, could no longer bear the brunt of the pilots' anger. From now on, he'd fight alone. He'd drop the name Duo and, he laughed at the twisted irony, take on the name Solo instead, in memory of his deceased, childhood friend.

With this final thought, he closed his eyes and, against his will, succumbed to a fitful, nightmare-plagued sleep.


	8. Extraordinary Encounter

OoOoOoOoOoOo

**CHAPTER EIGHT: EXTRAORDINARY ENCOUNTER**

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Shivering, Duo opened his eyes, blinking groggily. The temperature in the bathroom had plummeted so drastically that his teeth were chattering and his skin was now covered in goose bumps. He immediately wrapped his arms around himself in a desperate bid to restore some much-needed body heat, lifting his head and surveying the moonlit bathroom with both fear and intrigue. The air around him was crisp and icy, and he was surprised to see that his breaths now came out in visible, wispy puffs of air. He had no idea how long he had been asleep on the bathroom floor, but his stiff neck and aching joints told him that he had been huddled in this awkward position for a considerable amount of time. Broken and defeated, he simply closed his eyes again and let his head fall back against the tiled wall, accepting his miserable fate and welcoming the coldness that swept into his heart. He was drifting back into another fitful sleep, when a sudden and loud shattering of glass sounded in the bathroom, startling him awake. He immediately snapped his eyes open and, in disbelief, stared at the tiled floor, which was now littered with tiny fragments of glass that sparkled and glistened in the moonlight. Bemused, he quickly scanned the room to decipher where the glass decanter had fallen from, but nothing could have prepared him for the vision waiting before him. There, perched on the edge of the bath, was the figure of a teenaged boy, who, seemingly unaware of Duo, gazed unblinkingly out of the frosted window and drummed his ghostly fingers silently against the ceramic tub.

"Quatre?" Duo called out, surprised.

It was hard for the American to distinguish the boy's features in the semi-darkness, but he presumed it was the Arabian pilot simply due to his pale skin and light, flaxen hair. Bewildered, he waited impatiently for a response, but the figure simply sat there, silent and unmoving.

"Quatre?" Duo called out a second time, shivering and rubbing his blurry eyes, "How did you get in here, buddy? I thought the door was locked…"

Duo allowed his voice to trail off, finding the boy's silence rather unnerving. Growing increasingly anxious and impatient, he was about to heave himself up to his feet and approach the figure, when it slowly turned its head and stared solemnly at the fearful pilot. Duo's breath instantly caught in his throat as he gawked at the boy's ashen face and stared deep into his grey, lifeless eyes. The figure sitting before him was definitely not Quatre; in fact, Duo disputed whether he was even human. Though the boy was clearly young and handsome, his hair was a shimmering silver and his lips and skin were pasty white, devoid of life and colour. His skin did, however, possess an iridescent quality, boasting an unearthly, pearlescent lustre. It was as if a kind of ethereal light was encasing the boy, a ghostly hue that surrounded him that made it hard for Duo to turn away. There was something bewitching and beguiling about him, and, strange as it would seem, he appeared oddly familiar to the American pilot, like someone from a forgotten dream or distant memory. Duo continued to stare at the spectre, completely transfixed, until the boy's pale face suddenly broke into a small smile. At that instant, it was as if the spell that had rendered Duo dazed and silent was broken, as all intelligible thought rushed back to the American pilot and he could thereupon recognize whom it was that loomed before him.

"Solo?" Duo breathed incredulously, "Is that really you?"

The boy simply sat there and offered a mysterious smile. After an awkward and tense silence, he then nodded his head twice, his silver curls bouncing slightly and framing his waxen face.

"W-what are you d-doing here?" Duo stammered, questions bombarding his mind and a tidal wave of emotions crashing over him.

"You summoned me," Solo replied, his voice sounding the same as it always had – deep, commanding and authoritative, but now also possessing an ethereal quality that echoed and bounced hypnotically off the tiled walls.

"I did?" Duo asked, dumbfounded. "But… how?"

"Your soul cried out to me," Solo answered him, his gaze eerie and unsettling. "I've come to you in your hour of need."

"I don't understand… how can you help me? What are you going to do to me?"

"Guide you. Coax you. Lead you down the right path."

"I already know which path I'm going to take," Duo replied hastily. "I'm going to leave the team and fight alone. I'm not going to stay where I'm not wanted…"

He then gulped, glancing uncertainly at the ghost of his childhood friend. He wasn't sure why he was divulging all of this to Solo, but he couldn't help it; he somehow felt compelled to do so, as if the boy was drawing the words right out of his mouth.

"Are you sure that's the right decision to make, Duo?" Solo questioned, crossing his legs gracefully.

"Yes. I'm sure," Duo asserted, nodding his head. "They're better off without me."

"Why is that?"

"Because all I do is ruin things, screw everything up. I'm a liability. A failure."

"My friend, that is not true."

"Oh! But it is, Solo!" Duo insisted, tears springing to his eyes. "That disc meant everything to us! Everything! And, thanks to me, we're no closer to defeating OZ than we were two sodding years ago. Besides… I can't bear to hurt them anymore. I don't want to be the thorn in their side. I don't want to let them down again, like I did with you…"

At that, Duo sobbed brokenly and buried his head in his hands.

"You didn't let me down," Solo replied, burrowing his silver eyebrows and shaking his delicate head.

"Of course I did!" Duo wailed, braving to look straight into Solo's deathly eyes, which, once upon a time, had been brilliant orbs of ocean blue. "You died in my arms!"

"I died of the plague…"

"I failed you! I didn't get the antidote in time! Had I only been quicker, had I not lost my way…"

"Duo--"

"I could have saved you! You would still be alive!"

"It was my destined time to leave this world… God took me into his arms that night."

"No! It wasn't your time to go! You were too young! I should have died instead!"

"I was older than you. I lived a life of hardship and pain. My death put an end to my suffering, my dreadful existence."

"Then I should do the same! I should slit my wrists and join you, Solo! I can't live this fucking life anymore!"

"Suicide is not the answer. It's the coward's way out," Solo admonished, his beautiful, ethereal face growing stern.

"I am a coward!" Duo shouted back, choking on his tears.

"You'll be forever damned," Solo continued, his voice growing stronger.

"I'm damned already!" Duo retorted bitterly.

"And I'm here to save you," Solo said gently. "Do the right thing… don't abandon your teammates."

Duo snorted. "Why not?"

"Because they need you. Because you're a vital part of the team. The puzzle will be incomplete without you."

"Maybe I've grown tired of it all… maybe I don't want to be part of the puzzle anymore…"

Duo's voice trailed off as his sobs overtook him and wracked his shivering frame. Solo watched his friend in silence, waiting for the American to compose himself again. When Duo's tears had finally abated, Solo stood up and approached him slowly, stopping only a few feet away from him.

"I can only help you so much, Duo. Ultimately, the decision is yours. You can all fight together, or you can fight alone. I have not the power to force you to stay."

Nodding sadly, Duo looked up at Solo and felt a pang of guilt and shame as he saw a single, pearlescent tear slide down the boy's pale cheek.

"I must go now, my friend. Please may my visit not be in vain."

Alarmed at this news, Duo opened his mouth to protest, but Solo suddenly held out a delicate hand, gesturing for him to take it. Hesitantly, Duo brushed the white palm with the pads of his fingertips and gasped at the surge of ice that rushed through his veins and constricted his chest. Terrified and unable to breathe, he looked up into Solo's smiling face.

"The dawn is fast approaching and I must return to the other world. My Lord awaits me…"

Determined to make him stay, Duo grabbed onto his hand and tried to pull him forward, glancing desperately out the window for a split second to see that the sun was indeed starting to rise. He quickly turned his head back to Solo, but, to his horror, he found that the boy had already gone. He looked at his hand and realised that he was clasping nothing but thin air. Devastated, he slammed his fists hard against the tiled floor.

"Solo!" he cried out brokenly, once his voice had been fully restored and his lungs were swooshed with cold air. "Solo! Please! Come back! Please… come back…"

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Duo woke up with a start, completely drenched in sweat. His heart was hammering violently in his chest and he was panting hard. His dream had been so vivid, so real. For a moment, all he could do was sit there and gulp down huge breaths of air. Once over the initial shock, he quickly scanned the floor and saw that the tiny pieces of broken glass had all disappeared. Comprehending this, he chuckled softly to himself, realising that his encounter with Solo had been nothing more than a lurid dream or wacky hallucination. _Damn!_ _Those drugs screwed me up more than I thought!_

Summoning up the last of his energy, Duo gripped onto the toilet and staggered to his feet. His joints and muscles ached from the awkward position he had been sleeping in and he still had a headache, though it was much fainter and more tolerable now than before. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and raked in a long, shuddering breath. He then turned around and peered into the toilet, recoiling in disgust. His vomit was still there from last night, and it stank something awful. Wrinkling his nose, he flushed the toilet and then went to the sink to wash his hands. Seeing his toothbrush lying on the cabinet, he decided it was best to freshen his mouth out too, seeing as he was afflicted with a foul, lingering taste of bile. After brushing his teeth twice and gargling with mouthwash, he proceeded to sponge down his face and neck with cold tap water. This felt heavenly against his heated, tearstained skin. He was clammy and sweaty all over, but decided against taking a proper shower, seeing as his leg had only just been stitched up and he didn't fancy changing the dressing so soon.

Once he had finished freshening himself up, he gently dabbed his skin dry with a hand towel. He then moved forward and drew back the old, patterned curtains, letting the first rays of dawn flood into the bathroom and cast everything in a warm, golden glow. He smiled as the sunbeams played against his skin, the shafts of light calming him and somehow driving away the horrors of the night before. He then turned around and surveyed the bathroom, finding it much less disturbing now that it was bathed in sunlight. He made his way over to the oval mirror that hung on the tiled wall, and stared critically at his reflection. His chestnut hair was dishevelled and slightly matted to his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot, bearing dark shadows underneath them from serious lack of sleep. Duo sighed at his piteous appearance, and then grimaced as he lifted his sticky, messy bangs to reveal a dark, purple bruise forming across his forehead, indicating where his head had collided with the coffee table. He stepped closer to the mirror to inspect his nose, which was swollen and still bore some remnants of dried blood. Finding, to his relief, that it was not broken, he stepped away and scanned the room for a hairbrush or comb, deciding it was time to brush out his tangled mane and fashion it into a more presentable braid again. Spotting a hairbrush on one of the wall shelves, he crossed the small distance and reached up to grab it, accidentally knocking off a glass vase as he did so. The ornate vase fell to the floor with an almighty crash, shattering into tiny pieces. The sound made Duo jump and whirl around to stare incredulously at the floor. The ivory tiles were now littered with jagged shards of glass, just as they had been in his dream. Fear and shock immediately gripped the American's heart like an iron fist, resulting in him dropping the brush on the floor to raise both hands to his mouth.

As seconds passed, he managed to compose himself, disregarding the broken vase as nothing but a mere coincidence. Laughing, he bent down to pick up the crystalline splinters, mindful of their sharp, pointy edges. Absorbed and concentrating on the task in hand, he barely noticed the sudden flash of light that reflected off the bathtub. It was only when he glanced briefly at the clock a few moments later that the dazzling light caught his attention. Intrigued, he straightened up and walked toward the shining object, finding, to his surprise, that it was a silver chain bearing the crucifix, the pendant glinting magnificently in the sunlight. Fascinated, he picked it up and marvelled over its beauty and intricate detail. Holding it in his hands, a myriad of emotions and forgotten memories washed over him; he had once owned a necklace like this when he was a little boy. Father Maxwell had given it to him as a gift. After the Maxwell Church massacre, Duo had been forced back onto the streets, helpless, penniless and friendless. Though he cherished the necklace greatly, he had traded it for a pocketful of change and a loaf of bread, doomed to an early death during a harsh, winter night had he refused to sell it. He had cried for many days after that, bitterly regretting his decision to give up his prized possession, the only object that connected him to the church and his past. Lost in thought, he turned the pendant over and absently gazed upon the faded inscription. It was only when the word came into clearer focus that Duo realised, to his absolute amazement, that the necklace in his hands was the very necklace he had sold so many years ago. Astonished, he ran his finger over the word, his violet eyes filled with tears and wonder. His name 'DUO' was etched into the shining metal, Father Maxwell's finishing touch. The kind, old man had told him to keep hold of the pendant forever, as it would be an eternal symbol of his identity, his faith and his undying love for God. To have the silver cross in his hands after so many years was nothing short of a miracle. Immediately, Duo lifted the chain and fastened it around his neck, the crucifix resting comfortingly against his chest, against his very heart.

"Thank you, Solo," Duo breathed, his voice thick and filled with emotion.

He then moved to sit on the edge of the bath, where both the necklace and the apparition of Solo had been. Staring into midair, he contemplated everything that had transpired in this modest, little bathroom. Were the necklace and broken vase merely unexplained instances, or were they divine signs sent from above? Had Solo truly visited Duo in his hour of need, or was the American simply caught in a strange delusion; a crazy, drug-induced dream?


	9. Sparrow's Flight

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**CHAPTER NINE: SPARROW'S FLIGHT**

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Hesitant and taking a deep breath, Duo turned the key in the lock and cautiously pulled on the handle, letting the bathroom door creak slowly open. The sunlight instantly poured out from the bathroom in bright, vibrant rays, illuminating the darkened hallway. Gulping, Duo placed a hand on the doorframe and stuck his head out to scan the expanse of the landing. Thankfully, there was no sign of Wufei, or the other pilots for that matter, so Duo released the breath he had unknowingly been holding and crept down the hallway, stopping before his allocated bedroom. Opening the door, he was grateful to find that his room was completely untouched – his clothes and belongings, scarce as they were, still littered the desk, table and floor, and the curtains were still drawn tightly, blocking out the golden beams of morning light. His burgundy duvet was still lying flattened and crumpled amongst the scattered pillows on his bed too, this cultivation of messy images causing a wry smile to curl the pilot's lips. How did the saying go? A cluttered room is a cluttered mind?

Chuckling to himself, Duo stepped into the modest room and quickly closed the door. He then proceeded to the floral curtains, pulling them apart and opening the window, breathing in the fresh morning air. He looked down at the garden below and smiled at the charming sight, his violet eyes twinkling with boyish wonder. The pretty garden was small and quaint, surrounded by a wooden, picket fence. The grass, boasting a beautiful, vibrant green, was rather wild and overgrown, harbouring a myriad of colourful flowers and leafy, snaking weeds. The footpath itself was cobbled and crooked, riddled with various cracks and weathered with age. Trees lined the far end of the garden, tall and dense, and provided the garden with a large, protective canopy. And the flowerbeds running parallel to the fence were literally bursting with shrubs and flowers, a multitude of colours spilling out and mingling with the unkempt grass, which swayed in the gentle breeze. Insects buzzed and flitted from petal to single blades of grass, adding movement and life to the otherwise quiet garden. The cheerful, melodic sound of twittering birds filled Duo's ears, and the pilot looked up to watch a sparrow balance carefully on a branch before flapping its wings and soaring up into the air. Duo sighed as its tiny form turned into an indistinguishable blot in the sky, and raked a hand through his messy hair.

Despite Solo's pleas and warnings, Duo would soon be mimicking that bird; abandoning his vengeful teammates and fleeing this safehouse without a trace, just like the sparrow that flew from its home. He knew that in doing so he would be blatantly going against Solo's wishes, but in his mind he knew he had no choice. His co-pilots would continue to be ruthless and cruel, and refuse to give him a second chance. The American had thought long and hard in the bathroom last night, mulling over the situation and possible outcomes, paying close attention to the probable consequences of his future actions. By leaving the team, he would have to sever ties with them completely. He would have to go on and fight alone; there would be no middle ground. It would be all or nothing. Yes, it would be a crying shame, both for him and the team, but he simply couldn't go on living like this. He needed to get out, to break free. It was now or never.

Latching onto this firm resolve, Duo set about gathering up his clothes and various belongings, picking them up and throwing them on the bed. He retrieved his duffel bag from the wardrobe and proceeded to dump everything inside, not caring if his magazines got bent or his clothing became creased. It didn't take long for the small room to be cleared, for all the drawers and wardrobe to be emptied; in less than five minutes, all of the American's worldly possessions had been crammed into the tiny duffel bag. However, closing up the bag was a different story altogether – the bag was so full that Duo literally had to sit on it in order to close the zipper. Once he had finished his hasty packing, Duo hurriedly changed into a fresh set of clothes, flinging his bloodied shirt and boxers to the other side of the room with a grimace. He wouldn't bother taking those clothes with him; he couldn't handle extra baggage.

The American then walked over to the mirror and unbraided his hair, running his fingers through his tangled tresses before seizing a brush and combing it through. Relatively happy that his chestnut mane was knot-free, the American then re-braided his hair, making sure that the segments were equal and tightly twisted together. After fastening it with a black, elastic cord, he then brushed his messy fringe, letting his bangs fall neatly to frame his face. The pilot then gave himself a brief lookover, acquiescing that he was at least partly presentable. He was just about to go, when his crucifix pendant flashed suddenly in the sunlight, catching his attention. Smiling, Duo fingered the necklace affectionately and admired its beauty in the reflection; pleased with the way it contrasted sharply with his black shirt and dangled at just the right length. Sighing, he then tucked it safely beneath his shirt to protect it from potentially greedy, prying eyes. Satisfied with his appearance, he then turned around and surveyed the room for the last time, before slipping on his jacket and black cap, and grabbing his duffel bag, slinging it onto his left shoulder. Without a backward glance, he exited the room, closing the door behind him.


	10. Desperate Measures

OoOoOoOoOoOo

**CHAPTER TEN: DESPERATE MEASURES**

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Mindful of his injured leg, Duo crept slowly down the stairs, gripping the banister firmly for support. About halfway down, he stopped, apprehending the argument that exploded suddenly from below. The other pilots were consumed in a debate of some kind, their angry voices filtering out of the front room and drifting up the staircase. Sighing, Duo shook his head and continued his descent, no longer interested in their problems or capricious affairs. He was really past the point of caring. Hell, they could be plotting world domination or arguing about him for all it mattered; his only concern now was getting out that door as fast as possible without any of them cottoning on. This fervent wish was crushed a second later, however, when his duffel bag suddenly slipped off his shoulder and tumbled down the stairs with an almighty _thump thump thump_.

Immediately, the door to the front room swung open and one of the pilots stomped out, marching over to the fallen bag and picking it up. Silently cursing, Duo closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

"Maxwell!" Wufei's voice came booming up the stairs. "What is the meaning of this?"

Reluctantly, Duo opened his eyes and watched with a vacant expression as the black-haired pilot climbed the first two steps and scowled up at him.

"I'm leaving," Duo said, deadpan. "And no one's gonna stop me."

Wufei instantly flared up like a firecracker, whirling around and storming down the hall. He disappeared back into the front room, his furious voice shooting up the staircase and bouncing off the walls. Duo took this opportunity to make a clean getaway; he didn't have a second to lose. He clambered down the remaining stairs as fast as he could, and seized his duffel bag again, slinging it back over his shoulder. He then made a beeline for the door, pulling desperately on the handle, but finding, to his horror, that the door was locked and the key was nowhere in sight.

"What do you think you're doing, Maxwell?" Heero demanded, eyeing the frantic American with narrowed, cerulean eyes.

Biting his lip, Duo slowly turned around to face his angry teammates, who had all congregated threateningly in the hallway.

"W-where's the key?" Duo stuttered, fiddling with the end of his braid nervously.

"In my pocket," Heero smiled coldly, patting his spandex-clad thigh. "Now, answer my question. What are you doing?"

Duo eyed the Japanese pilot with both trepidation and fury. "I'm getting out of this hellhole."

"You're not going anywhere," Heero answered firmly. "We won't let you."

"Oh, yeah? And how are you gonna stop me, huh?"

"Locking him up in a cupboard wouldn't be a bad idea," Wufei mused, his onyx eyes flashing menacingly.

"Stop it, Wufei! This isn't the time to make jokes," Quatre admonished, his voice surprisingly stern. "This is serious."

"Quatre's right," Trowa nodded, giving the blond pilot a small smile. "Tell us, Duo. Why do you want to leave?"

"Why do I want to leave?!" Duo sputtered, incredulous. "Because I'm being treated like a piece of shit, Trowa! Geez… I didn't know you were so thick!"

Trowa immediately bristled at this remark.

"If anyone's thick around here, Duo, it's you," Quatre retorted indignantly, immediately defending his beloved friend. "Have you ever stopped to think why we are treating you like this?"

"Oh, Quatre," Duo laughed sardonically. "Yes, I have done a lot of thinking. So much thinking, in fact, that my head started to hurt."

Wufei laughed at this comment, sneering, "Well, that's not hard to believe."

"Shut it, Chang!" Duo snarled, glaring at the Chinese pilot before turning his attention back to Quatre. "I've done a lot of thinking and have come to a conclusion. I can't live with you guys anymore. You're all pathetic, horrible, unforgiving bastards. I intend to walk out that door and never come back. I'm through with the lot of you."

"But you can't leave, Duo!" Quatre shrilled, his cherubic face filled with worry. "You're a part of this team. We need you."

"Team?" Duo shrieked. "Don't make me laugh!"

"Whether you like it or not, Duo, you are a part of this team," Heero stated, folding his arms. "As much as I resent saying so, we rely on you. Without you, there is no Team Gundam."

"You know what? I couldn't give a flying toss! I've had it with the lot of you! You can stick your 'Team Gundam' malarkey right up your ass!"

"Duo!" Heero barked, advancing toward the American pilot.

"Let him go, Heero," Wufei sighed, reaching out and grabbing the Japanese boy's arm to hold him back. "Good riddance to him, I say. We'll be better off without him."

"You don't understand," Heero insisted, turning around to face the Shenlong pilot. "We're under strict surveillance. We're not to leave this building under any circumstances."

"What do you mean? You're making it up!" Duo accused, dropping his duffel bag and putting a hand on his hip.

"I'm not making anything up, Maxwell," Heero snapped, turning back around and glaring at the American. "I received an electronic report from the professors today. You can check my inbox if you don't believe me."

"But, why?" Duo asked, genuinely perplexed.

"Because OZ will sabotage us if we venture out of these grounds. They are on the lookout as we speak. The only reason why we haven't been blown to smithereens is that this safehouse is surrounded by a protective shield. The doctors activated it upon our arrival. For the time being, we are safe here to rest and recuperate, and prepare for our next mission. But under no circumstances do we leave this building."

"How long for?" Duo sighed.

"Doctor J reckons about a week, but it could be more."

"Well, that fucking sucks, doesn't it?" Duo snapped, scowling.

"Doesn't it just?" Wufei retorted, scowling back.

"So, it's imperative that you stay in this safehouse for at least another week, Maxwell," Heero reiterated, folding his arms again.

"Please, Duo," Quatre pleaded, his aquamarine eyes growing wide. "For all of our sakes."

Duo simply stared at the floor, unsure of what to do. Just a few minutes ago, he had his heart set on leaving, and now, after learning the doctors' explicit commands, he realised, much to his dismay, that he really had no choice. Duty would always have to come before personal needs or wishes. That's how it was, that's how it had always been. Such was the life of a Gundam pilot.

"Whatever…" Duo sighed, kicking his duffel bag angrily. "Get outta my way! I need a coffee."

Duo then barged past the lot of them, entering the kitchen grumpily. He marched over to the coffee machine and saw, to his relief, that there was still some left in the glass dispenser. He grabbed himself a mug and slammed it against the counter, filling it with the freshly brewed coffee. He then made his way to the table, sitting down and cupping his hands around the mug, feeling the warmth of the coffee emanate through the ceramic. Although it was morning, the American felt chilled to the bone. The confrontation with the other pilots had left him shaken and physically drained. He was so angry with himself for giving into them and agreeing to stay in this safehouse, a safehouse which he detested with every fibre of his being. But, though his mind was swimming with dark, malicious thoughts, a tiny light started to penetrate through. Solo had told him to stay, hadn't he? Maybe it was for the best after all. Besides, how long was a week? Seven stupid, little days, right? Surely he'd be able to survive that. Duo pondered these thoughts carefully as he raised the mug to his lips, the coffee's rich aroma hitting his nostrils and making his tastebuds water in anticipation. He was just about to take a sip, when the kitchen door creaked open and Quatre stepped hesitantly in.

"I think you'd better get back to bed, Duo," Quatre announced, frowning at the dark shadows that circled the American's bloodshot eyes. "You look awful."

"Gee, thanks," Duo laughed wryly, his comment making the blond pilot flush with embarrassment.

"What I mean is that you're not doing your body any good. Go up and get some sleep. I'll wake you up in time for dinner."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Duo conceded, pushing his chair back and standing up. "To be honest, I feel like a frigging zombie."

The American then chugged down his coffee, putting his empty mug in the sink.

"Let's just hope I don't barf all over Wuffers again on my way up," Duo smirked, his violet eyes twinkling mischievously.

This made the small Arabian giggle. "Duo!" he laughed. "Don't be so crude!"

"Was he angry?" Duo continued, trying to suppress his own fit of giggles.

"Oh, he was furious!" Quatre laughed, before straightening up and clearing his throat. "Now, stop being a little nuisance and get up to bed."

"Yes, Sir!" Duo exclaimed, saluting playfully.

He then ruffled the pilot's soft, blond hair and exited the kitchen. Shaking his head, he made his way down the hall and grabbed his duffel bag, taking a deep breath before mounting the stairs again. In truth, he felt exhausted and nothing seemed more welcoming than his comfy, double bed, which called to him like a siren.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Lost in a world of dreams, Duo was only vaguely aware of his bedroom door opening and closing softly, admitting somebody into his room. It was only until he felt his right arm being lifted up and something cold snapping around his wrist that he began to stir. Metal clanged with metal as the thing around his wrist was then attached to the headboard, and Duo twitched as something was locked into place with a sharp _click_.

"W-what are you doing?" Duo groaned, opening his eyes and blinking groggily.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Maxwell," Heero stated simply, taking advantage of Duo's sleep-fuddled mind by reaching over and doing the same to his left hand before the pilot could realise what was happening.

"Huh?" Duo grunted, attempting to sweep the hair out of his eyes but finding that he couldn't. "Hey! What the fuck's going on, Heero?"

"I'm confining you to your room, Maxwell," Heero answered tersely, climbing off the bed and moving to stand a few feet away from the restrained pilot.

Duo instantly glanced at his wrists and saw, to his surprise and absolute horror, that he was indeed handcuffed to the bed.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Duo demanded, rattling the cuffs so that they clattered noisily against the metal headboard.

"No, it's not a joke, Maxwell," Heero replied. "And I wouldn't bother making any noise. No one will hear you."

"Heero… please…" Duo implored desperately. "Let me go… I'm begging you."

The American pilot continued to tug against the cuffs, the metal chafing and cutting into his skin.

"There's no use trying to break free," Heero remarked, solemnly watching the braided pilot's futile attempts. "The handcuffs are made of pure Gundanium alloy."

Hearing this, Duo immediately stopped struggling and became still.

"The only way you're getting out of those is if I let you out," Heero smiled cruelly, showing him the key. He then pocketed it, tapping his thigh menacingly. "Looks like that's another thing you want but can't have."

"You fucking dickhead!" Duo screamed, straining against the handcuffs. "You better pray that I don't break free from these cuffs because, if I do, I'll come after you and break your fucking neck!"

"You really should learn to control that temper of yours, Maxwell," Heero asserted, walking towards the door.

"What?!" Duo cried hoarsely, ignoring Heero's offhanded remark. "You're not seriously going to leave me like this, are you?"

"Why not, Maxwell? At least now we can keep an eye on you and not have to gage your wild, unpredictable behaviour. You were all set to walk out that door and abandon us. We trusted you, Maxwell, and you betrayed our trust. We have no choice but to restrain you, for your welfare as well as ours. Under no circumstances are we allowed to leave this safehouse – I told you that. And now we can all get on with our lives peacefully, knowing that you are locked safely in your room and have no chance whatsoever of escaping. Like I said, desperate times call for desperate measures. Just remember, Maxwell, that you drove me to this."

"Please! Just stop being such a jerk, Heero!" Duo wailed, tears starting to fall down his cheeks. "This isn't funny anymore. Game over. I don't want to play this game anymore."

"This isn't a game, Maxwell," Heero stated, turning toward the door again.

"Wait!" Duo shouted, alarmed. "You can't be serious!"

"I'm deadly serious."

"B-but what if I need a piss or something?" Duo stammered, frantic.

"Good question," Heero said, turning back around. "I almost forgot."

The Japanese pilot then delved a hand into one of his jacket pockets and fished out a glass jar. With deft precision, he threw it onto the bed, where it landed next to Duo's head.

"It's an old jam jar. I'm sure you'll figure out how to use it," Heero told the American, his voice cold and disparaging. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going downstairs for lunch. Quatre will bring you up something in a little while."

"Bastard!" Duo roared, managing to grab hold of the jam jar and hurl it across the room, where it smashed against the door.

Heero merely shook his head and clucked his tongue in disapproval. "What a pity. Looks like you'll have to resort to wetting the bed," he said mockingly, opening the door and stepping over the broken glass.

"You fucking shithead!" Duo screamed, pulling hard against the handcuffs. "You can't get away with this, you bastard!"

But, much to the pilot's fear and distress, the bedroom door was already slammed shut. Furious, Duo was left to wallow in a world of misery and despair, completely alone, save for the sparrow that sat outside the window, perched upon the ledge. Duo couldn't stop the tears that now slid pitifully down his cheeks, feeling as though the whole world was against him. What had he done to deserve such a miserable existence? What had he done to deserve such cruel, callous friends?

"Is this what you wanted, Solo?" Duo asked brokenly, staring at the pieces of glass that glistened on the wooden floorboards.

Duo then turned to look back out the window, finding, to his dejection, that the sparrow had finally flown away.


	11. Two Inches Too Far

OoOoOoOoOoOo

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: TWO INCHES TOO FAR**

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Duo was an extremely difficult captive, indeed. It was only until his voice grew hoarse that he stopped screaming at the top of his lungs, and it was only until his wrists were raw and badly bruised that he stopped pulling furiously at the metal handcuffs. Shocked and confused, it had taken a long time for the American pilot to come to terms with his dismal situation, and an even longer time to bury his tear-streaked face into his pillow and finally fall asleep.

It was now mid-afternoon, and the sun was starting to sink beneath the clouds. Its waning golden rays still filtered steadily into the room, the pale beams now somewhat distorted by the fruit trees that surrounded the garden below, silhouetted against the cold blue sky. The rustling of leaves and a faint twittering of birds could still be heard drifting in through the open window, and it was perhaps this gentle melody that had finally lulled the pilot to sleep and calmed his frantic, despairing mind.

But, like all good things, Duo's contentment soon came to an abrupt end.

The bedroom door was suddenly thrust open, jolting the braided pilot awake. Startled, Duo blinked his violet eyes rapidly as they quickly adjusted to the light, and then scowled venomously when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, Maxwell," Wufei drawled, stepping into the room and kicking the door shut with his foot. He was holding a tray of some sort, and was trying hard not to spill its contents. "I've brought you your lunch."

"Stick it up your fucking ass!" Duo yelled, sitting upright and glowering at the Chinese teen who, unfazed, walked slowly towards the bed.

"I can see solitary confinement has failed to curb your tongue," Wufei remarked, stopping at the foot of the double bed. "No matter… we're still in the early stages."

"Fuck you!" Duo shouted, attempting to kick the Chinese pilot, but falling a few inches too short.

"I'll ignore your insolence, Maxwell, on the count that you're bound to be a little upset with this severe, though necessary, arrangement. Now, where shall I place your food, hmm?"

Ignoring Duo's furious glare, Wufei lazily scanned the room before spotting the mahogany bedside table, which was surprisingly clutter-free. Unhurriedly, he made his way towards it.

"This will do nicely, I think," he announced with a wry smile, nudging the lamp away with his elbow as he placed the wooden tray on the table. "Tomato soup and tuna sandwiches; aren't you the privileged one?"

But, to Wufei's annoyance, Duo failed to respond to this jibe, his senses genuinely distracted by the sight and smell of the food, which looked very appealing and reminded him that he hadn't, in fact, eaten since the night before.

Duo then furrowed his eyebrows.

"I thought Quatre was going to bring up my lunch."

"Oh, he was," Wufei said in an elusive tone, running a hand through his black hair. "But I offered to take it to you instead."

"How very kind of you," Duo replied caustically, knowing full-well that the boy's real intention had been to win the opportunity to torment and chastise him further.

And Duo was right; Wufei was enjoying his newfound power immensely.

"So, how long do you guys intend on keeping me locked up here, anyways?" Duo asked, tugging pointedly on the cuffs. "Another day? Two?"

"How about three? Or maybe four?" Wufei grinned. "We don't know as of yet. However long we deem it necessary, I guess."

"You shithead!" Duo cried, mortified at the boy's answer. "You can't fucking be serious!"

"Ohh," Wufei laughed maliciously. "We're very serious. Face it, Maxwell; you're going to be chained there for quite some time. You'd better start getting used to it."

"You fucking prick! You're enjoying every bleeding minute of this, aren't you?!"

"Oh, absolutely," Wufei laughed cruelly. "Now, if you don't button that foul mouth of yours, Maxwell, I'll have no choice but to gag you. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Horrified at the thought of being forcibly silenced, Duo quickly shook his head and then lowered it accordingly, letting his objection die in his throat.

"That's better," Wufei said smugly. "Your cooperation is as sweet as honeysuckle."

At this sickening remark, Duo found it very hard to keep his mouth shut, but the prospect of being gagged effectively kept his scathing words at bay.

"Well, I expect you are rather hungry, Maxwell," Wufei said, delving a hand into his trouser pocket and lifting out a small metal key.

Duo's eyes widened at this, astonished that the Chinese pilot was even considering letting him go free.

"Don't get too excited," Wufei sneered, scowling at Duo's hopeful expression. "I'm only releasing one of your hands."

Understanding the necessity of being tactful at a time like this, Duo quickly suppressed his eager smile, exchanging it for a solemn expression and curt nod of the head. And, to the American's delight, this simple act of compliance seemed to fool the Chinese pilot, who moved forward and grasped his right forearm tightly, sliding the key into the lock and giving it a sharp twist. The instant the cuff snapped open, Duo made a wild grab for Wufei's face, but ended up missing the boy's black hair by millimetres.

Chuckling, the Chinese pilot had immediately leapt off the bed, having sensed Duo's intentions right from the start.

"You're quick, Maxwell," Wufei smirked, straightening out his white tunic. "But not quite quick enough. Remember: I'm always one step ahead of you."

"Fuck you!" Duo snarled, madly thrashing his free arm, but swiping only at thin air.

"You're literally begging to be gagged, aren't you?" Wufei scorned, thrusting a hand into his pocket again and pulling out a dirty rag.

"N-No!" Duo stuttered, immediately tensing up. "Shit! Fucking put it away! I'm sorry!"

Arching an eyebrow, Wufei continued to taunt the American by dangling the cloth in front of him, decidedly unconvinced.

"L-Listen, buddy. I'll be quiet – I swear," Duo promised, looking up at the Chinese pilot ruefully.

"Very well, Maxwell," Wufei sighed, stuffing the material back into his pocket. "Hurry up and eat, then. Your soup's getting cold."

"Oh, yeah," Duo said, giving him a relieved smile and turning to the bedside table again. "Thanks."

Tastebuds watering in anticipation, Duo eagerly reached over with his right hand to seize a tuna sandwich. But, to his surprise and then great annoyance, he found that he couldn't quite reach; he was simply too far away and the remaining handcuff prevented him from stretching any further.

"I can't bloody reach it!" Duo growled angrily, turning back to the Chinese pilot, who was smiling wickedly. "Can't you release my other hand instead?"

"Hungry, are we?" Wufei sneered.

"I'm fucking starving!" Duo replied hotly. "Now quit playing mind games and let me eat!"

Ignoring Duo's request, Wufei continued with his tirade. "Tell me. How does it feel, Maxwell?"

"How does what fucking feel?" Duo shouted, frustrated.

"Hunger. Longing. How does it feel having something so important, so crucial, bared right in front of you, and yet all you can do is grapple at thin air? How does it feel being so close to the one thing you really want, the one thing you desperately need, but you can't progress any further because of the inconsiderate actions of another? Another whom you once deemed to be worthy and true, but turned out to be horrid and rotten to the core?"

Duo simply stared at the Chinese pilot, processing the boy's clever words awkwardly. It was perhaps a very cruel and heartless way to make him understand, Duo conceded, but he couldn't deny that it did, in fact, make him realise just how important the disc was to Wufei, and how much he had betrayed and disappointed the Shenlong pilot by failing the mission and letting the opportunity of attaining it slip pathetically through their fingers.

The American felt an instant pang of guilt and shame, and was compelled to say something, anything; to at least offer the boy an apology, but the lump in his throat grew hard and refused to budge, and all he could do was muster a wretched sigh and avert his eyes to the floor.

"I have nothing more to say to you," Wufei said bitterly, turning towards the door. "Look at the food, and sit and stare. Let your hunger wash over you, and then let it finally consume you. Think of what is, and what could have been."

Then, with a final look of anger and disdain, Wufei stormed out of the room, letting the door slam loudly behind him.

Appalled at what had just transpired between them, Duo hung his head in shame, letting his braid swing over his shoulder and rest in his lap. Allowing fresh tears to slowly cascade down his face, Duo toyed with the ends of his braid with his free hand, fingering the chestnut strands miserably.

It was then that a sudden thought flew into his head, and, instantly, he thrust his hand up into his hair and retrieved a hairpin from underneath his braid. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? With Wufei gone and forgetting to cuff his hand again, he had the perfect opportunity to pick the lock on his left wrist and then sneak out of the safehouse for good!

With trembling fingers, Duo made a slight bend to the hairpin, so that it would fit easily into the lock. He then manoeuvred his body to make the cuff's lock more accessible, slipping the crooked pin into the tiny hole and turning it left and then right, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. Luckily, he had a lot of experience in lock picking to go by, and a hairpin had always been one of his favourite tools to use.

_Just one more twist!_ Duo thought excitedly, jerking the pin a final time.

But, at that precise moment, the bedroom door burst open again, causing the American to drop the hairpin in terror. Not even bothering to see who had entered the room, Duo searched frantically for the pin, finding it, fortunately, lying on the mattress between his legs. Triumphant, Duo seized the pin, hiding his hand behind his back.

"Oh no, you don't!" Wufei snarled, having entered the room and finding the American pilot fiddling with the lock.

Furious, he charged forward and seized Duo's arm, wrenching it from behind his back.

"Hand it over!" Wufei shouted, trying to prise Duo's hand open. "Now!"

"Get off me!" Duo yelled, trying to kick the Chinese pilot away.

Enraged, Wufei expertly dodged Duo's kicks and continued to press down hard on the boy's wrist. When that didn't work, he moved his hands up to Duo's shoulder and squeezed the vulnerable pressure point there, the American immediately unclenching his fist and relinquishing the hairpin.

"A-Aaahh!" Duo shrieked with pain, shoving the Chinese pilot away with a hand that was now empty. "You fucking prick!"

But, wasting no time, Wufei clambered back onto the bed and set to work on restraining the American pilot again, grabbing his right arm painfully and securing his wrist in the handcuff once more. With a resounding '_snap_' the lock was clicked back into place, and, satisfied, Wufei climbed off the bed and swept aside the hair that fell into his face.

"You idiot!" he yelled, his onyx eyes flashing angrily. "Did you really think you could get away that easily?!"

"I almost did!" Duo shot back.

"With this?" Wufei laughed, incredulous, holding up the hairpin and then snapping it between his fingers, letting the pieces fall feebly to the floor. "How pathetic."

"You're the pathetic one!" Duo screeched. "You're the sadistic shit who locks up his comrade and then starves him to death!"

"Touché," Wufei smiled wickedly, raising both hands above his head in mock defeat. He then lowered them, his face growing stern. "It was very foolish of me to let you loose like that. I assure you, though, that it was a mistake I won't be making twice."

"Drop dead, you fucking asshole!" Duo screamed, clearing his throat and then crudely spitting at the Shenlong pilot, the saliva hitting the boy's cheek with deft accuracy.

Incensed, the Chinese pilot wiped the spit away with his sleeve, before marching to the bed and giving the American a hard backhand to the face. Duo yelped in pain, tears springing to his eyes.

The black-haired pilot then walked around to the other side of the bed and picked up the tuna sandwich that Duo had been trying so hard to reach a few minutes earlier. With a malicious look, he took a bite, dropping the rest of the sandwich back onto the plate.

"Mmm," he hummed, chewing enthusiastically and closing his eyes in mock indulgence. "That tastes sooo good."

The American pilot glared, his cheek still smarting from the blow.

Responding to Duo's glower with a satisfied, smug look, Wufei then left the room without another word, closing and bolting the door.

Beside himself with rage, Duo strained madly against the cuffs, a torrent of profane insults shooting from his mouth. But, his efforts and anger were to no avail; the handcuffs made of pure Gundanium alloy remained stubbornly clasped around his wrists, and his sadistic captors stayed downstairs, seemingly immune to his shouting and desperate pleas for help.

After a few good minutes of what could only be described as a tirade of absolute fury, Duo eventually collapsed on the bed, his arms hanging limp against the metal handcuffs and his face, blotched and sweaty, resting dejectedly upon the tear-stained pillow. Breathing hard, he eyed the food beside him, staring longingly at the cold tomato soup and bitten sandwich.

And then, as his stomach rumbled at the unfairness of it all, he blinked back a fresh set of tears, unable to stop his mind dwelling on what was, and what could have been.


	12. Conditional Release

OoOoOoOoOoOo

**CHAPTER TWELVE: CONDITIONAL RELEASE**

OoOoOoOoOoOo

There was a knock on the bedroom door, so quiet that Duo failed to hear it. The second knock, however, was a little bolder, and this time successfully caught the American's attention. Blinking back his tears, Duo attempted to ignore the person waiting on the other side, not wanting to see anybody so soon after his humiliating encounter with Wufei. Though, when the third knock sounded, louder still, Duo was forced to at least acknowledge his unknown evening visitor.

"Whoever it is; fuck off," he snapped bitterly.

There was a slight pause. The person on the other side seemed to contemplate a few things. The handle was then gently turned and the door was slowly pushed open. A shadowy figure stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

"It's me," a deep voice rang out from the darkness.

Duo rolled his eyes. Heero Yuy was the last person he wanted to see.

"Go to hell, Heero," he growled angrily, turning his face away.

There was a disappointed sigh as the Japanese boy moved to click the switch, and the small bedroom was suddenly filled with light.

"We need to talk, Maxwell," Heero announced, approaching the scowling American and sitting on the edge of the double bed.

"I have nothing to say to you," Duo replied, feeling the dip in the mattress but refusing to look at the Japanese pilot.

"Things have gotten… a little out of hand," Heero began awkwardly, slightly taken aback by the American's frosty reception.

Duo snorted with contempt.

"I'm prepared to let you go, as long as you promise me something first," Heero continued, fingering the set of keys in his hand for emphasis.

Duo heard the deliberate jangle of the keys and turned around to stare the Asian boy straight in the face.

Encouraged, Heero went on, "It is very important that you stay within this safehouse until the stipulated seven days are up. By letting you free tonight, I am endowing you with my trust. If that trust is broken, and you leave this building even one second before, you will violate Dr J's explicit orders, and there will be severe consequences to pay."

"I know that already, moron. You explained everything this morning. You didn't have to fucking chain me to the bed to reiterate the point."

"We felt it was best to drive the message home…" Heero replied, finding the American's valid points rather embarrassing. "It was only ever going to be for one day."

"Wufei said you were going to lock me up for four days!" Duo countered, his violet eyes flashing darkly.

"Have you never heard of the fear tactic?" Heero answered defensively. "He said that to scare you into complying, to try and knock away your walls of defiance."

"And you think that's acceptable, Heero?" Duo said, incredulous. "To starve me? To subject me to psychological torture? You're all twisted, sadistic fucks!"

"Starve you?" Heero repeated, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "But Wufei brought up your lunch."

Duo laughed, exasperated. "He teased me, Yuy! He made me believe that I could eat, and then put the food where I couldn't fucking reach! He watched me cry and beg, and then he fucking walked away!"

Heero's face immediately darkened as he eyed the tray of food beside the bed, and he clenched his fists in silent rage. "I will be having firm words with Wufei. He should not have done that. He knows what a difficult childhood you had."

"Who gives a shit?"

Heero chose to ignore the American's question. "So, do we have a deal, Maxwell?"

"Why should I trust you?" Duo snarled, anger and suspicion written all over his tear-stained face. "After all, this could be another one of your sick jokes. You're not really going to release me, are you?"

"I give you my word," the Japanese boy affirmed. "You just have to give me yours."

"Your promises are shit, Heero!" Duo shouted, his voice suddenly cracking from his earlier screaming and serious lack of fluid.

Heero frowned. "Here, drink this," he said, reaching for the glass of water that was sitting on the bedside table.

He leaned forward and brought the water to the American's dry and chapped lips. At first, Duo refused to drink, but then succumbed to his body's natural urges. He drank greedily from the proffered glass, savouring the clear liquid, although it had become warm and stale.

"I cannot condone what Wufei has done to you," Heero told him, shaking his head and placing the empty glass on the table.

"Whatever."

"Please, Maxwell. Listen to me," the Japanese pilot implored, grasping Duo's chin to prevent him from looking away. "Promise me you won't leave these premises, and I will release you."

The American tried to pull away, but Heero's grip was too strong. He was forced to stare directly into the pilot's unblinking azure eyes, which glittered with pity, remorse and a hint of compassion.

Taking a deep breath, Duo closed his eyes. "Okay, Yuy. I promise."

Pledging an oath such as this was difficult for the American. After all the abuse and humiliation his friends had subjected him to, he had no wish to converse with any of them again. He had planned on breaking free from his restraints in the dead of night to sneak out of the building whilst they were fast asleep, but now he was being made to promise to stay put and follow their bleeding orders for a further seven days. He was most unhappy, feeling he had gotten the raw end of the deal, and his displeasure was evident in his glowering face.

"Really?" Heero asked, raising his eyebrows dubiously.

"Yeah, really."

"Very well, Maxwell. I'm glad you see sense."

Heero offered the braided boy a small smile before grasping his left hand and slipping one of the keys into the tiny lock. With a small click, the cuff fell away, and Heero took a sharp intake of breath. He was appalled at the state of the American's wrist, which was chafed and badly cut. Tenderly, he ran his fingers across the broken skin that was coated with dried blood, which caused Duo to flinch and pull his hand away.

The Japanese pilot looked up to study the American, but the boy's face had hardened into a stony mask, his eyes blank and deliberately averted. Wordlessly, Heero set about releasing Duo's other hand, and again grimaced at the American's second bloodied wrist.

With both hands finally free from the wretched metal handcuffs, Duo brought his trembling fingers to his lips and kissed them, closing his eyes to suppress the hot tears that threatened to fall.

"I'll have to examine those wrists downstairs, Maxwell," the Japanese boy told him, standing up and pocketing the set of keys.

The American nodded solemnly, climbing off the bed also. It felt good to stretch his legs again, and Duo took the opportunity to walk around the room for a bit. Heero watched the braided boy in silence, seemingly fixated by his own bitter thoughts.

After a long, pregnant pause, Duo stopped and gazed at the Japanese pilot. "What happens next?" he asked, his voice bearing a scared and shaky quality. "What happens once the seven days are up?"

Heero took a moment to answer. "We go our separate ways, I guess."

His response rendered the American silent. All Duo could do was nod sadly and avert his eyes to the floor. He couldn't argue; he couldn't rebel. This outcome was to be expected. It was what he deserved.

"Quatre's busy making dinner," Heero remarked after an awkward minute. "You must be famished."

Duo nodded again, though, in truth, his appetite had been duly quashed alongside his wish for forgiveness; his hope for reconciliation.

"I'll meet you downstairs, then. Don't be too long."

"I won't," the American croaked, looking up and offering the Japanese boy a forced smile. "I just need to go to the bathroom."

"Of course," Heero said, nodding his head in wry understanding. He then exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Devastated, the American's hand flew to his neck to grasp his silver necklace, his jittery fingers clutching the precious crucifix tightly. He stood alone in the dark bedroom, silently swaying to and fro, and allowed his heart to finally be swallowed by the misery he had tried so hard to fight.

Things could never be put right. Not now, not ever.


	13. Burning Hatred

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**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: BURNING HATRED**

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"Maxwell?" Heero called, standing at the bottom of the stairs. "Dinner's almost ready. Are you coming down?"

"Yeah, in a minute," Duo called back from the bathroom.

The American was busy cleaning his chafed wrists, concentrating on the darkened blood that had dried on his hands and along his arms in jerky burgundy streaks. He didn't hear the Japanese pilot, who had run up the stairs to investigate his lengthy delay, enter the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" the cobalt-eyed youth asked him, walking across the tiled floor and placing a hand on his shoulder.

The American started. "H-Heero!" he yelped, twisting his body to face the Japanese boy. "Sorry, but I thought it would be a good idea to wash away the blood before I came down to eat."

"Hn," the Asian pilot grunted, taking hold of Duo's left arm and inspecting the reddened, broken skin that circled the entire wrist.

"It's not that bad, really," the braided boy said quietly, looking up at Heero's concerned face.

"Does it hurt?" the Japanese pilot inquired, gently prodding the nasty-looking cut.

"No, it's just a bit tender. Scabs are starting to form, see?"

"Hnn," the boy replied again, decidedly unconvinced. "Your wrists could do with some ointment, I think."

"Ah, okay," Duo conceded, letting himself be pulled out of the bathroom and led down the hall, into Heero's bedroom.

Duo hadn't been in Heero's room before, and so stole a quick, furtive glance, noting that it was about the same size as his own. The carpet and wallpaper were the same as his, though the curtains were a different shade of green. On the desk was a selection of books and mementoes, and in the centre sat Heero's beloved laptop.

Wasting no time, Heero directed the braided pilot to the bed, and then started to rummage through his desk drawers for the wanted ointment. Finding it, he approached the fidgeting American, sitting down beside him.

"Give me your hands," he ordered, unscrewing the cap and bringing the American's hands to rest in his lap. "Prepare yourself, Maxwell. This may sting a bit."

Heero applied the cream to the American's sore wrists, causing him to bite his lip and then hiss at the stinging sensation. After a short moment, however, the antiseptic lotion produced a numbing effect, and Duo could no longer feel the sharp burn.

"Thanks," he whispered, as Heero released his hands. "It feels a lot better now."

"Good," the Japanese pilot remarked, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. "You can keep that ointment. Take it to your room and apply it again tonight, before you go to bed."

"Sure, Heero," the American answered, standing up also. "Thanks a lot."

"Right, well we better get downstairs, then."

"Yeah," Duo agreed, making his way out of the room.

Heero waited for Duo to put the cream into his own bedroom, and then the two pilots quietly descended the stairs.

"How's your leg?" the Japanese boy asked him on their way down.

"Oh, it's fine," Duo replied, though Heero couldn't see his wistful smile.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

"I found him," Heero announced, entering the kitchen and gesturing behind him.

Taking a deep breath, Duo walked into the kitchen, quickly averting his eyes to the floor. The other pilots immediately turned around and eyed the American warily, none of them knowing quite what to say.

After a tense minute, Duo figured it was best to break the uneasy silence. "So, what's cooking, Quatre?"

"Oh, uhh…" the Arabian murmured, Duo's sudden question catching him off guard. "Fish, chips and peas. I found some cod in the freezer, you see."

"It's a good job, actually, that the doctors had the sense to stock up this safehouse with a good supply of food," Trowa acknowledged loudly, eager to break the ice and join in with the relaxed conversation.

"Oh, yes," Quatre nodded enthusiastically. "I've found all sorts of food in the freezer – meat, fish, ice cream, vegetables, pies, bread…"

"You're making my mouth water," the American laughed, a little nervously, coming to sit down at the table. "I'm starving."

"Oh, really?" Wufei sneered, a wicked smile curling his lips.

"Yes, he is," Heero replied sternly. "And he has good reason to be. I will be discussing this issue with you later on tonight, Chang."

"As you wish," the Chinese pilot answered coldly, glowering at the American before turning back around to stir the parsley sauce.

Sensing the animosity start to engulf the room once more, everybody set about completing their respective domestic tasks. Trowa and Quatre laid the table, smiling awkwardly at Duo as they passed him, Heero shared a jug of blackcurrant squash between five glasses, and Wufei poured the steaming parsley sauce into a tall ceramic dish.

Duo felt like a spare part just sitting at the table doing nothing, so he stood up and walked over to Heero to see if he needed any help. Heero reluctantly accepted his offer, instructing him to transfer the glasses onto the table.

Putting down two glass tumblers, Duo turned back around to fetch another two, accidentally obstructing Wufei's path to the table. Cheeks reddening, he was just about to apologise and step out of the way, when Wufei moved forward menacingly and poured the hot parsley sauce down the front of his t-shirt.

"Ahh!" Duo shouted in outrage, immediately backing away. "What the fuck are you doing, Chang?!"

Everybody jumped and turned around at the commotion, watching the unfolding fracas apprehensively. Wufei chuckled darkly as the American groaned and quickly stripped himself of the soiled shirt. Luckily, the sauce was of a thick consistency, and so didn't seep through the material as quickly as the Chinese boy had expected, or, indeed, as he had hoped. Duo's chest was a little burned, though not half as bad as what it could have been.

"Wufei!" Quatre cried, horrified. "Are you crazy? You could have burnt him!"

"You mess with fire," the Chinese pilot snarled, "so you can expect to be burned, Maxwell."

"You fucking maniac!" Duo screamed, grabbing the damp cloth that Quatre offered him and pressing it hard against his chest. "That was a new shirt!"

"Perhaps you'll think twice before you puke all over my tunic, then!" Wufei countered, his onyx eyes flashing dangerously. "An eye for an eye; a shirt for a shirt – it's only fair!"

"There's no such thing as fair," the American answered coldly, throwing his top on the floor and storming out of the kitchen.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

The door slowly creaked open, admitting Wufei into the living room. Duo was sat on the sofa, brooding. When he looked up and saw whom it was, he slammed his fist hard on the coffee table.

"Bugger off, Chang!" he growled, refusing to look at the black-haired youth.

Ignoring the American's fierce demand, Wufei closed the door and walked across the room, coming to sit opposite the braided pilot.

"My apologies, Maxwell," he said stiffly. "My actions, though provoked, were rather shameful."

"Heinous, more like," the American snapped, glaring at the Chinese pilot.

"That too," Wufei conceded, lowering his head.

In truth, although his behaviour had been wrong and unjustified, he didn't regret his malevolent actions one bit. He was only here because the other pilots had berated him for the last fifteen minutes and insisted that he come and apologise to the fuming American. If it were up to Wufei, he would scald the braided pilot again, and this time use boiling water.

"Is that it?" Duo questioned scathingly. "Is that all you came in to say?"

"Pretty much," Wufei replied, standing up again. "Though there was one other thing."

"Oh?" the American asked, raising his eyebrows curiously.

Wufei took a deep breath. "There's a meteor shower tomorrow night," he announced through gritted teeth. "We were wondering whether you wanted to join us."

"Why, I'd… love to," Duo replied hesitantly, taken aback by the boy's kind and unexpected offer.

"Very well," Wufei said, deadpan. "Six o'clock on the roof, then."

"Yeah… thanks."

With a curt nod, Wufei quickly exited the room, leaving Duo to stare after him in disbelief. He realised, of course, that Wufei's apology was rubbish; he could see the hatred burning in the boy's black eyes. Wufei hadn't meant a word of what he had just said, and he certainly felt no remorse or pity. It was obvious that he had only said those things to smooth things over with the other pilots. But, Duo wasn't going to dwell on that now. The others had invited him to watch the meteor shower! _Him_! After all the bitter fights and upset! It wasn't anything amazing, really, but it was a starting point, at least.

Perhaps things weren't as bad as he thought. Perhaps there was a chance for forgiveness and reconciliation…


	14. The Silver Necklace

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**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE SILVER NECKLACE**

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Wufei suddenly grabbed the American's sleeve, halting him on the stairs. "Can you do me a favour, Maxwell?"

Duo whirled around. "Sure, Wufei. What do you want?"

"I left my camera in the front room. Would you mind fetching it for me?"

"No problemo," Duo smiled, running down the stairs. "Where is it?"

"In the schrank, bottom cupboard. Thanks." Wufei inwardly cringed at the American's chirpy, upbeat mood, but masked his sour feelings with a small, callous smile.

Duo nodded genially and ambled down the hall, into the front room. It was nearing midnight and the meteor shower was about to begin. His head started to spin and his body started to quiver with excitement. He had always possessed a deep, compelling passion for astronomy, and meteor showers were by far his favourite cosmic event. To him, they were spectacular, awesome, stunning; tiny specks of blazing dirt whizzing across the sky, painting the expanse of black velvet with vivid streaks of gold.

This impending meteor shower was particularly important to the American too. The cosmic debris was predicted to enter the Earth's atmosphere directly from L2, his home colony. From time to time, he missed his homeland dreadfully, and so the thought of copious L2 fragments pelting through the mesosphere sent waves of giddy pleasure crashing through his body.

Duo glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and, with a jolt, saw that the meteor shower was about to begin. Without a second to spare, he dashed over to the wooden schrank and fell to his knees, jerking the antique door open and rummaging through the damp and mouldy cupboard. Hurriedly, he pushed aside the plethora of dusty books and broken weapons in search of Wufei's camera, failing to hear the front room door quietly close and a key turn in the lock from the outside.

On the other side of the door, Wufei's face split into a feral grin as he tossed the key to the floor. Smirking, he seized a nearby mahogany chair and propped it against the door, so that its back slipped firmly under the door's handle. True, the meteor shower was about to begin, but, in his twisted mind, Duo had no right to witness such a beautiful event. He simply did not deserve the privilege. Naturally, the American would break down the door and run up the stairs in outrage, but Wufei cruelly calculated that by the time it would take Duo to find the camera and pick the lock, the meteor shower would be well and truly over.

With a dark chuckle, he bounded up the two flights of stairs to greet the other pilots on the rooftop.

"Where's Duo?" Quatre asked, his face wrinkled in confusion.

Wufei shrugged. "I have no idea."

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Seizing the digital camera triumphantly, Duo scrambled to his feet and raced to the door, but was surprised to find it shut. _That's funny_, he thought, _I don't remember closing the door..._

Frowning, he turned the handle and cursed vehemently when he found that it was locked. Dropping to his knees, he thrust a hand into the back of his braid and pulled out another trusty hairpin. The rate this was going, he would have to pay a visit to the supermarket to replenish his supply of lock-picking tools. Cramming the pin into the lock, he jerked it once, twice, and a third time, before the lock clicked deftly open.

Wasting no time, the American jumped to his feet and attempted to push the door open, cursing again when he met a solid resistance on the other side. Furious, he took a step back and then kicked the door hard, initiating a brutal snapping of wood as the door flew open. Charging out of the room, he scowled at the splintered chair littering the floor, and, turning, saw the blasted key glinting in the landing light. A fiery rage swept through his body, and he struck the wall with a clenched fist. _Wufei, you bastard!_

Mounting the stairs, three at a time, he reached the rooftop almost immediately. Bursting through the small, panelled door, he marched over to the grinning Chinese pilot and seized him by the collar of his tunic. "Fucker!" he cried, moving to throttle the black-haired youth. "I fucking hate your fucking guts!"

"Duo!" Quatre shrieked in alarm. "What are you doing? Get off him!"

Heero and Trowa quickly yanked the braided pilot off Wufei, tackling him to the concrete floor.

"Get a grip, Maxwell!" Heero shouted. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Ask that nasty, twisted, conniving, shit-faced dumbfuck!" Duo screamed hoarsely, struggling furiously against the two muscular pilots.

"I have no idea what he's talking about," Wufei said innocently, frowning and rubbing his neck.

"Bastard!" Duo yelled, before turning his attention to the other pilots. "The twat caged me in the front room so I would miss the meteor shower!"

Wufei spluttered. "Preposterous! I would not! Seriously, I think he's lost his marbles. He's crazy!"

"Really, Duo," Quatre murmured, coming to kneel beside the prostrate American. "Your allegation is a little extreme. Wufei wouldn't do such a horrid thing."

"You don't believe me?" Duo cried, turning to the blond Arabian, hot tears springing to his eyes. "You don't fucking believe me?"

"No, Maxwell, we don't," Heero said firmly, standing up. "Chang would never stoop so low."

Duo let out a wretched, strangled cry, its sheer volume making Trowa jump. The Latino quickly relinquished his hold, sensing that Duo was now too distraught, too broken to fight.

And he was right.

Duo simply lay there, staring up at the star-strewn sky with a vacant, almost dazed expression. He then bolted upright and released a long, hollow laugh, his violet eyes sparkling with bitter tears. Wincing, he staggered to his feet, gasping at the sudden pain that shot up his injured leg.

Quatre moved to help him, but Duo held up a protesting hand. "Leave it, Winner," he hissed. "Just leave me alone." He then began limping towards the panelled door, his crucifix necklace bobbing against his chest and suddenly flashing in the bright moonlight.

"What have you got there, Maxwell?" Wufei inquired, waltzing over to the American and seizing his silver chain.

"None of your fucking business!" Duo shouted, snatching back the necklace and giving the Chinese pilot a violent shove.

"Barton!" Wufei called excitedly, turning to the lanky Latino. "I think I've found your necklace!"

Trowa gave the Chinese pilot a highly dubious look, though walked slowly towards the feuding pair. "What?"

"Your silver necklace – the one Catherine gave you for your birthday. You said you left it in the bathroom, remember?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Duo demanded fiercely. "This is _my_ necklace! Father Maxwell gave it to me _years_ ago!"

"Prove it!" Wufei challenged, his black eyes dancing with sinister mirth.

Duo laughed insanely. "It has my name engraved on the back, you moronic shit! Here, see for yourself!" Boldly, he flipped the crucifix pendant over and held it up against the orange glow of a nearby lantern.

"I don't see anything, Maxwell," Wufei stated frankly, staring at the blank metal, perplexed.

"Stupid prick," Duo growled, looking up to examine the pendant himself. His face then paled in shock. "W-What the fuck?" he stammered, incredulous. The inscription had completely disappeared. "I s-swear it was there a minute ago! Father Maxwell p-personalised it for me!"

"He's cracking up," Heero remarked loudly, shaking his head. "He's completely lost the plot."

"B-But w-what about Solo? The d-dream? The bathroom?"

"The bathroom?" Wufei demanded, his eyes narrowing into two cruel slits. "So you admit you took it from the bathroom, then? Trowa, my friend," he said, turning to the scowling Latino. "There is a thief among us."

"I'm not a thief!" Duo growled, clutching the necklace close to his chest. "This necklace is _mine_! Solo gave it to _me_!"

"Once a street rat, always a street rat," Wufei muttered with disdain.

"Hand it over, Maxwell," Heero ordered sternly. "Give the necklace back to Trowa. Now!"

"NO!" the American screamed, making a mad dash for the door. "It's _my_ necklace! I won't ever let you take it from me!"

"Duo!" Quatre cried, his face wrought in a mixture of fright and despair. "Somebody, do something!"

Wufei immediately lunged forward and pinned the braided pilot against the brick wall. Easily overriding Duo's furious struggles, he grabbed the silver necklace and yanked it from his neck. The chain instantly broke and fell quickly to the floor.

"You bastard!" Duo roared, dropping to his knees and clawing desperately at the necklace.

But, like always, Wufei was too quick, too calculating. In a flash, he snatched up the necklace and sprinted towards the rooftop's edge. Spinning round, he shot the American a manic grin, before dangling the chain menacingly over the steep ledge.

"NOOO!" Duo shrieked, setting off on a painful limp. "Please, God, no!"

"Wufei!" Trowa bellowed, bypassing Duo and pouncing on the black-haired youth. "What do you think you're doing?! Give it to me now!"

A powerful struggle then ensued, the Latino trying desperately to pry the necklace from the boy's stubborn fingers. Unfazed, Wufei held the chain out at arm's length, deliberately swinging it to and fro. Believing he would really drop it, Trowa seized the front of Wufei's tunic and shook him hard, accidentally jerking the necklace out of the boy's hand. Immediately, the necklace plummeted to the garden below, engulfed instantly by the darkness.

Violet eyes widening in horror, Duo collapsed on the floor in a frenetic heap, a ferocious scream ripping from his arid throat. "How could you?" he cried bitterly, his voice nothing more than a pathetic whisper. "How could you?"

Trowa turned and watched the American in silent sympathy, his green eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Sorry, Barton," Wufei said in a low voice, searching the Latino's stricken face. "I-I was never going to drop it – I was merely teasing Maxwell. I promise I'll help you find it in the morning."

Unstirred by the boy's hasty apology, Trowa lifted his head and glared at the Chinese pilot in disgust. Without a word, he stalked away from the group, slamming the panelled door behind him.

Minutes passed, and a most uncomfortable ambience descended upon the remaining pilots, potent feelings of loss, pity and guilt crushing them like a black avalanche. Nobody spoke, and the silence intensified, fragmented only by Duo's wretched, gasping sobs.

Heero cleared his throat. "Come on," he barked to Quatre and Wufei, no longer able to bear the American's anguished cries. "Let's go."

Heads bowed, shoulders slumped, the pilots exited the rooftop one by one.

Once again, Duo was left broken, shaken and alone.

After a few moments of quiet weeping, Duo dragged himself to his feet and stumbled over to the edge of the rooftop. With wild, frantic eyes, he searched the garden below for his beloved necklace. But, only black shapes and distorted shadows greeted his blurred vision.

Defeated, Duo slammed his fist against the brick wall and howled into the night. In that single hour, he had lost everything. His dignity, his sanity, his convictions. And now his precious crucifix. The one thing that had kept him moving forward, had helped him stave off the occluding darkness, had reconnected him to the church, to Father Maxwell, to Solo…

Staring into the black, unfeeling night, Duo realised, not for the first time, that he was completely and utterly alone. The moon shone down on him coldly, bathing him in a ghostly pool of silver light, and the stars twinkled in wry amusement. A strong wind whipped his blotched face and whistled loudly through the fruit trees swaying in the garden below.

Rain, cool and gentle, then collided with his messy hair and heated cheeks, the soothing droplets mingling with his own salty tears.


	15. A Second Chance

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**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: A SECOND CHANCE**

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Time passed slowly for the devastated American. Heartbroken, bereft, he whiled away his hours in the secluded garden, picking apples and plums and pears from the bountiful fruit trees and tending the wild flowers. Since daybreak, he had scoured the garden in hope, in sheer desperation, but his frenzied hunt was to no avail; his crucifix necklace was nowhere to be found and he feared he had lost it forever.

He hated being branded a thief. He hated being trapped in the wretched safehouse, incarcerated by the infernal protective shield. Ironic, wasn't it? The very shield designed to protect him from OZ, to keep his deadly enemies at bay, effectively shackled him to his vengeful comrades, forced him to endure their terrible agenda. He hated the pilots' malevolent actions; their coldness; their complete apathy to his feelings.

Most of all, he hated Wufei.

Defeated, he now lay amid the tall grass that swayed in the light breeze, the sun warming his chilled back. He ran his fingers through the smooth blades of grass, breathing in the sweet smell of summer. Overhead, a butterfly circled a patch of red geraniums, before idly fluttering away. A bumblebee whizzed past his ear a few minutes later, landing on the crimson petals and collecting the sticky nectar. The small flowers shuddered under the weight of the insect, and then bounced to and fro when the bee flew away.

Duo sighed, rolling onto his back. He squinted up at the clear blue sky and smiled as a flock of blackbirds raced across the golden sun. In that small, precious moment, he felt happy, almost liberated, drinking in the warmth of the beautiful summer day. The sky looked so real, so tangible, that he felt he could reach out and touch it. It was hard to accept that it belonged to the outside world; that it was, in reality, shut out by the doctors' invisible shield.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift like the gentle breeze that ruffled his hair. On the brink of a lazy slumber, he stirred at a tickling sensation on the back of his hand, the delicate prickle much like a lover's tender caress. Opening his eyes, he looked down at his hand and chuckled as a black ant scurried back and forth across his skin. Lifting his hand carefully, he rose to his knees and delved his other hand into his trouser pocket, pulling out a slightly squashed cupcake he had taken earlier from the kitchen. He rubbed the cake between his fingers so that it crumbled in his palm, then slowly scattered the sponge fragments onto the grass. At once, the little ant crawled off his hand and seized a crumb with its antennae, then set off on its long journey home.

It wasn't long before a whole troop of ants scuttled across the parched soil and delighted in the generous feast. Duo watched the miniature army with a rueful smile. This was the embodiment of friendship, the epitome of teamwork. Together, the ants would heave the golden crumbs onto their tiny backs and carry the sugary treasure back to their queen, would indulge in the sweet victory as a family, as a whole. Why couldn't his co-pilots be like this? Why couldn't they forgive, understand, accept?

Duo blinked back the sudden tears that threatened to fall. With an aching heart, he clambered to his feet, his love for the garden now inexorably dulled. Head bowed, he traipsed dejectedly back to the safehouse and nearly bumped into Quatre, who burst unexpectedly through the patio doors.

"Sorry, Duo," the petite blond murmured, averting his eyes to the ground, a tray of sandwiches, cakes and fruit clenched in his small hands.

Duo acknowledged the apology with a stiff nod, stepping silently aside to let the other pilots enter the garden. He watched jealously as Heero and Trowa strode down the path and threw a woollen blanket over a shaded patch of grass, straightening it out and sitting down, smiling. He scowled resentfully as Quatre set the food down on the blanket and helped Wufei distribute the drinks.

An afternoon picnic. How fucking quaint.

Duo marched into the safehouse, slamming the patio doors behind him. Their cruelty was really quite shocking. None of them had believed his story last night, dismissing his claims as ludicrous and completely unfounded. They brazenly theorized that he had staged the incident himself; that _he_ had actually broken the chair in a feeble attempt to frame poor, innocent, godlike Wufei.

As if he would go through all that trouble! As if he could ever stoop that low!

Bottom lip trembling, he was about to climb the stairs and lock himself in his bedroom when he heard a curious beeping sound issue loudly from the front room. Opening the door hesitantly, he made his way over to Heero's duffel bag and pulled out the boy's vibrating phone. With shaking fingers, he flipped it open and pressed the green button to accept the incoming call. Taking a deep breath, he held the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

_"Pilot 01. Do you copy?"_

Duo's eyes lit up. He recognized the gruff voice instantly. "Good afternoon, Dr J. This is Duo Maxwell speaking. Pilot 02."

_"Greetings, 02. Duly pass the phone to 01. I have an important message to relay."_

Duo gulped, his palms growing sweaty. "01 is currently unavailable. He has given me special permission to receive this call."

There was a long pause. _"And you will relay the message immediately to 01?"_

"Y-Yes, absolutely."

_"Very well. Tonight, at 0200 hours, pilot 01 is to infiltrate Base Gemini, an elite OZ command centre located 50 miles east from your current position. I will send the exact coordinates via email. Details, of course, will be encrypted."_

"Affirmative," Duo replied, struggling to hide his mounting excitement. Hacking into Heero's email account was a piece of cake.

_"Pilot 03 is required to accompany 01. His stealth will be a valuable asset to this mission."_

"A-And what will this mission entail?"

_"Pilots 01 and 03 are to infiltrate the heavily guarded base and retrieve a red and gold disc. The information encrypted on this disc makes it paramount to any other, and will reveal to us Khushrenada's plan to build the advanced model of Gundam XT900. Remind 01 that it is vital we obtain this disc; we cannot afford to fail this mission a second time."_

Duo's heart skipped a beat. A second time? Holy crap! Was this the same precious disc they had failed to retrieve last week?!

_"02? Do you register, 02?"_

"Yes, Dr J," Duo said quickly, suppressing the urge to scream out in delight. "Roger that. I will inform Heero at once."

_"Very good, 02. I trust you will spare no details. Reiterate to 01 the importance of this mission."_

"You bet."

_"One more thing, 02. I will deactivate the protective shield at precisely 0115 hours for approximately ten minutes. That should give 01 and 03 ample time to depart from the safehouse. All lights and electrical appliances are to be switched off in that short period to ensure your hideout remains secure and undetected."_

Duo listened carefully, committing the instructions to memory.

_"I will send 01 the necessary details via email by sundown. Make sure he gets ample rest before the mission, as we anticipate it to be an extremely dangerous and exigent feat."_

"No problem, sir," Duo assured him, instinctively reaching for his crucifix necklace and then shuddering at its absence. "Thank you for your message."

_"My pleasure, 02. Look after yourself."_

"I will, sir."

_"Very good. Over and out."_

The connection was immediately terminated. Duo drew in a shaky breath, quickly deleting the evidence of the call from the phone and stuffing it back into Heero's duffel bag. Collapsing onto the sofa, he crushed a cushion to his chest. The mission was expected to be dangerous, to be positively perilous, and required at least two Gundam pilots to complete it. He would be mad to pursue the disc on his own, ostentatiously suicidal…

But, he had to.

He simply couldn't throw away this golden opportunity. Couldn't discard this offer of glory, of vindication, of redemption. This was his chance to put things right; to put everything right.

This was his opportunity to shine.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

**A/N:** Thank you very much for reading this chapter. I hope you all liked it. Please submit a review, as feedback is much appreciated.

I want to say a big thank you to everybody who reviewed chapter 14. Your comments mean so much to me! Thanks for sticking by me for so long, and for continuing to enjoy this story.

Actually, I want to take the opportunity now to tell you all that we are nearing the climax of this story. There are only a few chapters left! So, sit tight and wait for the rollercoaster of emotions. Somebody recently said in a review that this story is quite unorthodox. I smiled when I read that. I quite agree! Lol.

Oh! I have just set up a poll for this story, which you can find in my profile page. Please cast your votes; I'm excited to view everybody's thoughts collectively.

Also, I have recently written three oneshots called, 'Relena's Wedding Night', 'Shuichi's Tattoo' and 'Prescriptivism'. It would be great if you could check them out and tell me your thoughts and feelings evoked from them.

Getting back to this story, for those of you who submit anonymous reviews (especially Kenny and d3c3as3d!!) – please leave an email address! Otherwise there is no way I can write to you and thank you for your comments!

Finally, there are many of you who have simply favourited this story or put it on story alert, without submitting a review. Now, that's not really fair, is it? I won't be cruel and announce the names publicly, but you know who you are! Please, break your mysterious silence and leave me a review! Your thoughts matter to me too!

Okay, well that's it for now. Until the next chapter!

Olexia Engel

OoOoOoOoOoOo


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